


show a little loving, shine a little light on me

by ev0lution



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife fic, Don't think too hard about it, F/M, They all die sorry, This Author Only Knows One Star Wars Swear and She Uses It Gratuitously, in which i reaaaaally stretch out that canon timeline, starts off pretty angsty but it gets better i promise!, the good place AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ev0lution/pseuds/ev0lution
Summary: Her mother explained that they were somewhere called the Good Place. “It has other names too,” Lyra told her, watching with a small smile. “Elysium,” Lyra listed, catching her attention. “Heaven. The Force. But most of us call it The Good Place.”---Jyn forgives herself for dying. A Good Place AU.





	1. shrike

_had no idea on what ground i was founded_

_\---_

_EVERYTHING IS FINE._

The white, almost fluorescent words have the opposite effect of their intended purpose, setting Jyn on edge. The overwhelmingly optimistic statement was enough to have Jyn reaching for her weapons – but they’re gone. She still has her blaster holster, and the sheaths strapped across her body, but they’re all empty. Even the one around her ribs, which sets her on edge immediately. Her shirt was tucked in. Anyone who emptied that sheath would’ve had to lift her shirt, and then tuck it back in –

But panic would get her nowhere. She turned to the catalogue in her head – what species would make a trap like this? She’d heard of a handful of gangs that liked to capture sentients and hunt sentients for sport. Some would build elaborate traps for their games, to encourage a moving target. But those ran more along the lines of drugging sentients and leaving them in handcuffs, chasing them through forests or rigged cave systems. Jyn had never heard of a gang that would think of something like the soft blue room she was sitting with, with startlingly cheerful words on the wall and nothing holding her down.

Jyn didn’t even know how she’d gotten there. Her first thought was that she had been drugged, but her body was missing the heavy, sluggish feeling left by most sedatives, and lacked the other side effects of the ones that didn’t. She hadn’t even woke lying down, or chained up; it was like at one point, she shut her eyes, and the next, she opened them to find herself sitting up in the small, plush room.

 _Start from the beginning_ would be Saw’s advice. But what was the beginning? She had a hazy recollection of memory, flashes and not much more – she remembered sweltering heat, a hatch above her, a rotting bunker. There was a street crammed with people, hands, too dark to be hers, that were shaking. There was a staff and a crystal, a canon, and huge, blinking eyes. There was brown and blue, splashed all over her mind. It was all she saw when she closed her eyes. Was that all hers? Was that all the same planet? The same people?

Brown and blue – her mind flew to it, like an arrow finding its target. Or maybe a blaster hitting its mark (a stolen one?). That stirred something in her too, but the thought was interrupted. The wall suddenly swung open, admitting a woman with melted-chocolate hair, and Jyn’s head stuttered like a jammed rifle, kicking back and hitting her instead.

“Jyn.”

Lyra Erso looked younger than Jyn had ever seen her, hair pulled back carefully and her face free of the exhausted lines that she’d sported through all of Jyn’s life. Jyn could only blink at her, uncomprehending. A trick? A lie?

But there was a root, deep within her, that told her that this was real.

Lyra was dead. Jyn knew that for sure. Saw had recovered her body, and they’re buried her at sea.

Lyra was dead. Buts he was also standing in front of her.

“Jyn,” Lyra said, holding a peaceful hand out. “Welcome to the Good Place.”

///

Lyra’s explanation was unhurried, and well-rehearsed; she anticipated each of Jyn’s questions, and answered them all with patience. She seemed unbothered by the way Jyn couldn’t stay still, standing and sitting, pacing and shifting from foot to foot. But she’d had a long time to prepare for Jyn’s reaction – more than a decade.

Lyra’s words were gentle, her tone kind. But there was no avoiding it, no softening it: Jyn was dead. She’d died, somehow. Jyn couldn’t remember how, but Lyra assured her that was normal.

“Your memories will return slowly,” Lyra told her calmly. “So as not to overwhelm you. For now, you’re welcome to stay here, with me, or we can…”

Jyn didn’t hear the rest of what she said, her mind becoming stuck on the word _welcome_. She thought of brown and blue, and felt her patience spill away.

She pressed her feet hard into the earth, just like Saw taught her. “Are we the only ones here?”

“No,” Lyra said softly. “I volunteered to come explain to you about where we are.” Jyn squeezed her eyes shut at that, searching for the _how_. It had something to do with the brown and blue, she could feel it. Jyn listened, distantly to her mother, but only half-heard it. She was busy trying to find her memories; it was like she could brush her fingers against them, but couldn’t reach far enough to get a good grip.

Her mother explained that they were somewhere called the Good Place. “It has other names too,” Lyra told her, watching with a small smile. Jyn only half-noticed it, thinking of brown and blue, brown and blue. There was red, too, wasn’t there? And black. Bright white, like lights. “Elysium,” Lyra listed, catching her attention. “Heaven. The Force. But most of us call it The Good Place.”

There had been a mistake. That was Jyn’s first instinct, because there was no way she would end up somewhere _good_ , not with all the horrors she’d seen and committed. She remembered enough to know that. She was missing the last few months, but she knew herself.

The _Good_ Place. Jyn curled her hands into fists and shut her eyes, the colour coming back. But this time, it was only green. Brilliant, overwhelming green, so bright she could still feel it burning. So much green, she was swallowed in it. She fought to remember the brown and blue, the brown of his eyes and the blue of his coat. But he didn’t have the coat on Scarif, had left it behind on Yavin IV before they’d left –

The sliver of memory rushed into her like a sudden breath. She pushed for more, but it was returning frustratingly slowly. Some of Lyra’s words began to help. She said they were in the Force, which triggered a laugh in Jyn, because somewhere, Chirrut was smiling. And Baze (her mind groped for names like light switches in the dark) – Baze would groan in frustration.

There was another B…

Bodhi! There was Bodhi, who would probably side with Chirrut, and Kay, he was those lights, and the brown and blue, that was, “Cassian?”

Lyra nodded. Her eyes were calm, but searching. She was probably desperate to know what was going on in Jyn’s head. “Your friends are here,” she said, “Captain Andor, Mister Rook, the Guardians and the droid, K2-SO. They’re here, along with all of the soldiers that accompanied you to Scarif.”

Jyn’s heart broke, right then, and her knees shattered along with it. She sunk shakily to sit on the coffee table, dropping her elbows to her knees. Everyone – _all_ of the soldiers – every single person that had followed her had died for it. Her guilt broke like a damn inside her, bubbling in her stomach so she felt like she was going to vomit. All those people had been Cassian’s friends. All those people had lives and families and –

They should’ve left her in that prison.

Jyn dug the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw purple spots in their lids. She didn’t realize her breath was heaving until Lyra took her hands from her eyes, forcing her to sit up as she said soothing things.

“We’re safe here,” Lyra said, smoothing her hair. “Safe. We’ve been given peace.” Lyra looked her in the eye. “I know how hard you’ve fought, Jyn. You’ve earned this peace.”

But Jyn wasn’t even listening.

 _The plans_. They’d shot them into space, with nothing more than hope. “Can we see them? Can we go back there?” She didn’t know how to refer to it, the place that she was when she was alive.

“No,” Lyra said, speaking underwater. Jyn’s ears were strangely blocked. “We learned from those that come here. We cannot go watch the living at out will.”

Jyn loved her. She should’ve been sobbing, probably, hugging her mother and grateful that she got to see her again, which was more than Jyn had ever expected. But too much was happening at once. She felt like she was spinning faster and faster. She needed to speak to the people that would slow it back down.

Jyn interrupted whatever Lyra was saying, “I want to see them.” To apologize. To promise something. She didn’t know what.

///

The room she woke in was located in a small, lovely little home with window boxes and a tall white door. Jyn hardly noticed any of it, staring at her mother’s hand as she followed her out, watching it hang by her side. She could pick out old and familiar calluses. It made everything seem more real, somehow.

She led Jyn out onto a long stretch of road made of smooth stone, lined by homes of all styles. They were all beautiful as the one she’d just left, lined with flora Jyn dimly recognized as from a hundred different planets, covering homes in full bloom, even though most were out of season. Jyn could see a forest down the road, huge and sprawling, that vaguely reminded her of the forests of Yavin, but not so overwhelmingly hot.

“Jyn!”

She spotted him in a second, stepping out of a small, igloo-like structure a few homes down. She broke out into a sprint, shooting towards him as he did the same, and Jyn didn’t even register that an old ache in her knee, which had pained her since her teens, was gone. She slammed into him, full force, and they sunk together to the ground. Wrapped tightly around him again, she remembered slipping on sand, and that blinding green light again. But now she remembered that it had swallowed them whole.

“The plans,” Cassian breathed, holding her tightly.

Jyn pressed her eyes into the junction between his shoulder and throat, thinking of her mother, thinking of where they were. She thought of what she’d said to him as she’d half-carried him to the elevator, the words suddenly crystal clear in her mind.

“I meant what I said.” And she had. “Someone’s listening.” Her whisper warmed his throat, and Cassian held on tighter.

///

“There’s no window,” Lyra told them, once they’d gathered themselves again. She was answering Cassian’s question, but watching Jyn, eyes full of questions. They’d stayed down on the pavement so long that Jyn’s knees had gone numb, so she needed Cassian’s hand to help her up. Their hands had stayed linked. She needed the anchor, and she was sure he did too.

“We cannot see the living,” she told him, and Jyn felt Cassian’s hand twitch in hers, like he meant to do something, but wasn’t sure what. He over adjusted, brought her hand back towards him and bumped it into his thigh. His clothes were the same as the beach, Jyn realized, just like her. The only difference was the lack of blaster. There was no room for weapons in the Force, apparently.

“I imagine we will learn the outcome of your effort soon enough,” Jyn jumped at the new voice, not having realized she was there. Cassian pulled her hand towards him again, his thumb twitching over her hand. The new woman was small with Cassian’s colouring, a round stomach and an apron covered in prickly-looking flowers. She smiled warmly at Jyn and stepped forward to approach her, taking her free hand.

“I am Cassian’s Abuela, Marcela, but I want you to call me Abuela, okay? All of Cassian’s friends do.”

“I’m Jyn Erso,” Jyn replied, and Marcela just nodded. She had the same straight, white teeth as Cassian.

“I have heard of you, cariña,” Marcela said, squeezing her hand. “You are very brave.”

Jyn was half-aware that Lyra and Cassian were undergoing a similar exchange, Lyra’s hand on his cheek, thanking him for something that made his neck red. But Jyn was captured by Marcela’s strong gaze and the way she held herself. This woman had pride, and every right to it. A compliment from her was worth something.

“You will want to see the rest of your friends,” she said, looking at her grandson. (Jyn caught her own understanding of _Abuela_ , and realized that her languages were still with her, even the small strand of Festian, though her memories still seemed tired, blurred). Marcela said, “They’re waiting for us.”

Lyra and Marcela started down the road first, in the direction of the trees, leaving Jyn and Cassian to fall in step behind them. Jyn was quiet for a moment, listening carefully to the words passed between mother and grandmother. They were introducing themselves, explaining their accents and making small talk.

Cassian was as quiet as she was, shoulder brushing hers with every step. Their fingers were still entwined, but it wasn’t something she was entirely conscious of. She didn’t notice it any more than the way her feet rested in her shoes, or the way her hair was tied behind her.

“Is this real?” Jyn asked him quietly, but even as she spoke, she knew it was. Most of her memories were murky, but her last days were solidifying quickly now, with his appearance. They were scratching messily into her mind like initials on a blaster. She remembered dying; she remembered her last thought.

This was not a dream, either. Jyn had pinched herself several times already, and anytime she’d had a panic attack in her dreams, she’d woken with one too. Collapsing onto the table had been close enough.

Jyn was noticing other things too, things that, when paired with all the other factors, spelled out only one answer. She was becoming more aware of the way her body no longer ached, never realizing just how battered it was until she was free of it. Her knee no longer cracked if she bent it too far, her shoulder no longer squeaked through its socket, her toes weren’t sore like they had been since she’d broken all the ones on her right foot, and they hadn’t been set right. She still had calluses and scars; she could see old, dark lines on the backs of her hands, and felt Cassian’s calluses, rough against her own. But the things that had caused her pain were gone.

Besides, Jyn had never had a dream this good. Not even before her mother’s death.

“My Abuela died in the bombings on Fest, when I was a child,” Cassian told her lowly, tilting his head towards her. “I’ve never spoken of her to anyone. Not even Kay. The Empire couldn’t have done this.”

“Hallucinogenic drug,” Jyn suggested just as lowly, though she didn’t believe it.

Cassian shook his head. “Standard Intelligence training requires a poisons unit. I’ve never experienced a hallucinogenic like this. Have you?”

She hadn’t.

Jyn understood that he just shared something personal for her sake. She understood that he had shown vulnerability to reassure her. He’d done it willingly, since there were other things that he could point to – his wounds from the beach were suddenly healed, though Jyn remembered them as clearly as if they were her own, and if this was an Imperial trick, they’d likely be dead by now.

She wanted to offer him something in return for his gift. It was what they did. They always worked to be on even ground.

“My mother was shot by Krennic’s men,” Jyn said, watching the back of her mother’s head. Her hair was twisted into a low bun, just as Jyn remembered. She used to watch Lyra in the low light of the morning, when she would sit up slowly and tie it back.

Old instincts flashed, and Jyn felt suddenly exposed with her hair done in the same way. She had an awful feeling, like she’d forgotten to cover a wide blind spot. But it was just a hair style, nothing the Empire could ever pin her with.

Besides, she was dead. The Empire couldn’t touch her anymore.

Jyn resisted the urge to yank her hair out and focused on her words instead. “Saw picked me up a few days after. I think it was a few days. It could’ve been shorter.” She hadn’t thought to ask how long she’d been in the cave and Saw hadn’t told her. She had just been grateful to get out.

Cassian nodded once, almost impartially, but Jyn knew it wasn’t because he tugged her hand closer to him. He looked over their shoulders instinctually before they turned the corner after the women in front of them, Jyn’s own eyes sweeping between the homes and finding nothing. She tried to list all the architecture she recognized: Alderaan, Dantooine, Ryloth. There was a half-dozen other styles, but Jyn couldn’t name them.

When they rounded the corner, however, the differences ended; there was only six houses on the new road, built huge and white in the style of Naboo.

“Naboo has some of the most beautiful architecture in the galaxy,” Lyra explained. “But wish for whatever you want. It will appear in its place.”

Cassian’s arm went stiff against hers, suddenly enough that Jyn whirled, fists already clenched, snarl lifting her lips –

But Cassian hadn’t seen a threat. He’d seen the too-large form of Kay ducking out of one of the house’s doors, blinking owlishly at them.

“Cassian,” he said, eyes zooming in on him, and then Jyn. He focused on Cassian. “I am a droid. Droids do not have afterlives. This is against protocol. There is a sixty percent chance that this is an error.”

His voice was increasing in speed and pitch, and Jyn realized with a pang that he was afraid. Kay was afraid.

(Was he afraid when he died, buying them seconds to get the plans? Had Jyn been afraid? She didn’t think so. There hadn’t been time for it.)

But as Kay spoke fearfully, Cassian approached him with a hand out, like you would for a frightened animal. “Your logic has a flaw, Kay,” Cassian told him, smiling growing slowly, like a sunrise. “You’re basing your knowledge off the fact that your life is lesser than a sentient’s.”

“I…” Kay’s eyes blinked, widening and narrowing as he attempted to puzzle that one out. “I will need to consider this further.”

“Jyn! Cassian! Kay!”

And then Bodhi was there, throwing his arms around all of them. Baze and Chirrut appeared too, Baze setting a heavy hand on their shoulders, and Chirrut running his hand softly over each of their faces.

“I’m sorry,” Jyn blurted, voice shattering halfway through. She took a deep breath, focusing her eyes on Baze’s shoulder. “If not for me, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be alive.”

“If not for us,” Cassian corrected quietly, shifting beside her. Jyn was grateful that he was there with her, though it was selfish. He didn’t deserve to die. None of them did.

“We’d be dead on Jedha, if not for you,” Baze told them bluntly.

Chirrut’s answer was softer. He looked more serene than Jyn had ever seen him. She only realized she was crying when he reached out, magically finding her tears to wipe them away. “All is as the Force wills it.”

///

Lyra and Marcela left them to get settled in their new homes, and probably give them a moment to catch their breath. They were dead and supposedly safe, but only Chirrut’s demeanor seemed to suggest belief in the fact. Bodhi was twitching more than Jyn had ever seen him, fiddling so hard with the buttons on his shabby uniform that he’d accidentally worn two straight off. Baze looked strangely small without his canon on his back, and seemed to feel the same way. Kay’s head kept swinging around, like he expected someone to announce a mistake at any moment. Cassian’s posture reflected the same bone-deep exhaustion that Jyn felt.

“We should change,” Chirrut said finally, when the conversation in their little circle had dimmed. “Then you are all to come over for dinner.”

They broke off. Jyn was torn between being reluctant to leave them, and relieved she would have a moment in private. She needed to collect herself, just for a moment.

Lyra had told her that the large house on the end of the street was hers. Cassian was on her left, and Kay on his, with Chirrut and Baze across from Jyn, and Bodhi on the other end. Jyn turned to watch Baze ignore his home, between Chirrut and Bodhi’s, and follow Chirrut into his. Jyn felt the strangest pang in her stomach. She didn’t look at Cassian.

 _You hardly know him_ , a quiet, vicious part of her snapped.

 _You died together_ said another, calmer voice.

The house was too large for her. She knew it before she’d even stepped inside, but it was only proven when she did, and the first thing she saw was a staircase spiralling upwards. Everything was cream-coloured. Jyn was sure she’d have it mud splattered in a matter of days. Her footsteps echoed loudly against the marble flooring when she stepped inside, and there was a coolness that made her wrap her arms around herself.

This wasn’t hers. It was so far from what she would want for herself that she could only imagine the alien her parents pictured in her place, if this is what they thought she would like. The architecture read delicate Coruscant princess, one that blushed at lewd jokes and fainted at the sight of blood. Jyn would’ve snorted at the image, if she wasn’t so disturbed that it had been assumed of her.

She left the door wide open behind her, unable to bring herself to shut it, and herself, inside.

The second floor was an elegant sitting room that made Jyn crinkle her nose. The next was a bedroom that Jyn would never be able to sleep it: there were windows on all sides, and no real cover, with only thin white cotton serving as window covers. It was far too exposed. The thought of even trying to rest there made her fingers twitch for her holster.

A cut-out in the wall by the bed led to a wide closet, larger than their little home on Lah’mu. It was packed with thin sundresses and light fabrics, leggings and flowing robes. She thought of the delicate Coruscant girl, and this time she did laugh, but it was more of a strangled, choked sound.

The very back corner of the closet was her only salvation, with a couple pairs of sturdy brown fatigues and thick dark shirts. Ducking out of the way of the doorway, and the windows of the bedroom, Jyn peeled off her Scarif clothes, replacing them with the fatigues and layers. She kicked the Scarif clothes under the sundresses and tried not to look at them.

When she left for Baze and Chirrut’s, she left the front door open again, half hoping someone would come and loot the house, rough it up a little. It was probably a bad sign that she felt more comfortable with danger.

Despite it having been barely ten minutes since she left them, the others were all there already when she arrived. Dinner was quiet, and Jyn realized, more than time alone, this was what she needed. Silence in the company of close allies.

Baze and Chirrut had made some kind of wraps, but Jyn hardly tasted them, her mind torn in so many directions. The easiest to focus on was the Guardians’ home: it was filled with greens and blues, all earth tones that made her feel far more comfortable than the shocking, anxiety-filled white of her own home, reminding her too closely of the white that appeared behind her eyelids when she shut them against a bomb. Baze and Chirrut’s home didn’t have the expensive-looking, plush furniture either, but modest little couches and very lightly padded chairs. She liked it more instantly, but she wasn’t sure if it was the colours or the company.

“How’d you all die?” Bodhi asked, suddenly and softly as they were halfway through their meal. Jyn wasn’t sure if she herself was prepared for all the answers, but Bodhi’s hands were shaking so hard that vegetables were spilling out of his wrap, and she knew it didn’t matter what she needed. Bodhi needed this more, right now.

“I was shot by several Stormtroopers,” Chirrut said calmly, so smooth that it removed some of the shaking in Bodhi’s hands. “I was able to prepare myself. I accepted death with open arms.”

Jyn thought of clinging to Cassian, of _your father would be proud_ , of closing her eyes and breathing out, slowly –

“Grenade,” Baze said, and Bodhi started.

“Me – me too,” he said, “I didn’t see it go – go off. I closed my eyes.”

“That is a consistent response for sentients in your situation,” Kay told him. Bodhi nodded, accepting the droid’s comfort, hands wringing in his lap. Kay said, “I was shot approximately two hundred and thirty-seven times in order to protect Cassian and Jyn as they went after the plans.”

“That must – must’ve been painful,” Bodh said, and Kay’s eyes fixated on him.

“I… yes. It was,” Kay’s voice was quieter than Jyn had ever heard. Vulnerable. She heard him yelling, _Cassian, go!_

She felt Cassian twitch beside her and set her hand on his knee instinctively. She was puzzled by the action immediately, watching her hand dart out like it had a mind of its own. She didn’t know she had instincts like that – soft and caring.

But it seemed to work. Cassian said, “Jyn and I died together, on the beach. It was the Death Star.”

The room went quiet. The Death Star – the nightmare they had all been trying to prevent. No one needed to ask what it was like. They’d all been on Jedha.

Slowly, more of the story emerged. Baze revealed that Chirrut had given his life to flip the master switch, so the rebels could get their message. Bodhi admitted his own heroics, his long walk with twenty pounds of wire on his back. Kay admitted that dying with a blaster in his hand made him feel like a rebel.

“You are a rebel,” Cassian said firmly. “We all are. Jyn and I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Cassian told most of their story, picking up where Kay left off. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mouth around the words _Kay_ and _died_ in the same sentence, so he avoided it entirely, starting when they were locked in the project room. He tried to glaze over the point of his fall, trying to skip to Jyn’s climb to the top and her confrontation of Krennic. _You’ve lost_. It felt like a hundred years ago.

“Cassian took a shot when we were climbing. He fell. I thought he was dead,” her voice was flat, and she was staring down at the table in front of them. She remembered seeing him, held up only by the wall and his conviction to get the plans. “But he came back,” she told them all, “He climbed all the way back up with broken bones, for those plans. Krennic was about to kill me when he came and saved me.”

The Jyn of yesterday would loath to admit to being saved by anyone, but she suddenly wanted everyone to know. _This man saved my life, because he is good and kind and the best damn Intelligence officer the rebellion’s ever seen._

She remembered him pulling her back, _leave it_. She wondered if that was the moment that got her into the Good Place. That she had listened to Cassian and didn’t take the revenge she’d been waiting for so long for.

Cassian spoke so quietly that she nearly didn’t hear him, drawn down in her thoughts. “I came back for the plans, and for you, Jyn.”

She paused. Looked up at him. Jyn wasn’t entirely prepared for the sincerity in his face, but there it was. She swallowed thickly.

“I want you to know that,” he said, even quieter.

They always met on even ground. But Jyn didn’t know what to say, to offer in return. Instead, she turned the hand on his knee over, offering it. Cassian took it and interlaced their fingers.

The room fell quiet, a hush wrapping around all of them as they reflected on their deaths. Jyn didn’t know how long they sat there, but it was Chirrut who broke the quiet. He told a story about when he taught Baze how to make the wraps they were eating, and how Baze had accidentally set the stove on fire. Bodhi followed with a story of the food in the Imperial Academy, and how an underground smuggling ring of good food was started in response. Then Cassian was telling them about his mother’s chilaquiles (he kept correcting his tenses, knowing she was in the Good Place, and unsure of how to refer to her), and then Kay was informing them of the attachment Cassian had added to his mechanics that would make fire starting for meals easier. Then Jyn joined in, telling them about the way that Saw would _cook_ protein bars, a story that had them in stitches. It wasn’t even that funny, but maybe they all needed a good laugh.

She didn’t want to leave, so she didn’t. It wasn’t on purpose; she’d barely finished her wrap before she fell asleep on the couch, so thoroughly exhausted that she didn’t wake until morning.

///

“Papa.” Jyn was standing on the threshold of the house, watching her parents warily. She’d returned there when she woke in the morning and had answered a knock soon after.

She didn’t throw her arms around her father like she might have just days ago. Reality had set in. It had been too painful to think of her, so he didn’t. He named his Death Star project after her, a fact that was a lot less flattering when you were murdered by it. So she kept a careful distance, primed on her toes like an animal surveying a clearing.

She noticed Lyra behind him, standing with the same smile she had the day before. Jyn said, “Mama.”

“Stardust,” Galen said warmly, but he didn’t move. Jyn appreciated it.

She realized after a beat that they were all hovering on her doorstep and she stepped back, allowing them access into her house. ( _Not home_ , she thought _, home doesn’t feel like this_ ).

Galen walked in and made appreciative sounds at the beautiful furniture and wide windows, complimenting Jyn on something she had nothing to do with. She just nodded, unsure of what else to do.

“It’s more beautiful than I imagined,” Lyra said. “Of course, if you don’t like something, all you have to do is ask. It will be changed for you.” Jyn could only nod. What do you say to your dead parents?

Galen and Lyra removed their shoes at the door, and Jyn was suddenly conscious of the way that she was still wearing her sturdy boots, tracking dirt all over her home. She spun, walking into the huge kitchen and hoping her parents would follow.

They did, cautiously, like you would follow a deer on a hunt. Jyn stomped into the kitchen to find something to do and spotted a pot in the first cupboard she opened. She yanked it out somewhat aggressively and set it under the tap, filling it before sticking it on the stove and setting the heat on high.

“How are you doing, Jyn?” Galen asked quietly. Maybe he sensed his daughter’s anger, but she wasn’t any more inclined to clamp down on it. “How have you been?”

 _Before, or after she died?_ Jyn swallowed that answer and shrugged instead. “Fine,” she told him, turning to escape his eyes and poke through the cupboards.

Jyn tore through the cupboards as her parents watched in polite, nearly nervous silence. She reached one cupboard full of food, and pulled out a container of snowflake-shaped crackers that she had since she was a child.

“You always loved those,” Lyra said suddenly, almost making Jyn jump. Jyn looked from her mother to the box, then put the box on the counter.

She turned her back to them, so they wouldn’t see her screwing up her face. What the hell was this? She hadn’t cried since… well, the beach didn’t count. That was when she was about to die, and with Cassian, who didn’t deserve to die, beside her. Eadu didn’t count either, since the universe had been cruel enough to dangle everything in her reach and suddenly murder it – her father, her relationship with Cassian, her goddamn hope (though all of those things seemed to be restored, to varying degrees).

But before that, before she’d left Wobani, the last time she’d cried had been about when she was eight. She hadn’t even cried when Saw left her, her dominant shock preventing it. She wasn’t going to start a new habit.

She could feel her parents’ eyes on her back as acutely as she would feel a sniper’s aim. She wondered if Cassian was doing as poorly as she was, over at his Abuela’s home, where she’d invited him in the morning. But maybe he was still sleeping at Baze and Chirrut’s. She’d been the first of their group to rise, hand still entwined wit his, crick in her neck because they’d fallen asleep sitting up on the couch.

Bodhi had been on her other side, curled tightly into a ball and resting against the couch’s arm. Baze and Chirrut had been leaned against one another on a smaller couch, and the familiarity of it had made her heart twist. Even Kay had still been there, powered down to charge on an ottoman that was far too short for him.

Jyn had slipped out that morning using every tactic Saw had taught her, not wanting to wake them. She’d felt like an intruder on the scene. She wasn’t part of warm, cozy scenes like that. She wasn’t supposed to be.

Just like she wasn’t supposed to be part of moments like this, with her parents watching her with loving, cautious eyes while she slammed her way through her kitchen and tried to avoid them.

“Are you looking for the tea, dear?” Lyra asked, already moving past her to a small cupboard by the stove. “Have you tried this one?” She swung open the door, revealing a kettle as well as several boxes of teas. Jyn could’ve thrown something, embarrassment flushing through her like vinegar.

Jyn watched as her mother withdrew a few boxes of tea, politely ignoring the kettle, which was almost worse than mentioning the pot on the stove. Lyra set the boxes down on the counter.

“You knew I was coming?” Jyn asked her, hoping that an uncomfortable question would lead to anger. Anger was a lot easier to wrestle than the embarrassment and self-consciousness growing in her.

“I knew you’d be here one day,” Lyra said, like it was a given that her daughter would end up in the Good Place. Of course, Lyra had only known her for the first eight years of her life. She had no idea what she’d committed the following decade and a bit. “I began designing this when I came.” Her voice went quiet. “I’d hoped you’d make it to adulthood, and thought if you did, you’d want a place of your own. But of course, there’s always a room with us.”

That sounded worse than the huge, elegant house. She would rather live somewhere completely unsuited to her, than have her parents breathing down her neck every time she so much as sneezed.

“I appreciate the space,” Jyn said, intending to be diplomatic. But she cringed when she heard how that sounded, and her parents just kept nodding along, though she saw that blow land. Jyn nearly groaned, reaching for the back of her neck.

“Did you,” Galen asked, glancing at Lyra, “Did you live alone? When you were alive?”

The last place that Jyn had lived for an extended time had been _Wobani_ , when she always had a cellmate there, sometimes more despite there only being two beds. But she knew what he was really asking: was she alone?

She thought about her answer carefully; she wasn’t used to telling nice lies, to smooth over the serrated truth. “I moved around a lot,” Jyn said finally. “My job kept me moving.”

Lyra and Galen glanced at one another, then back to Jyn. It seemed better than they expected. Jyn realized her mistake when Galen said, “Job? What did you do?”

Jyn nearly swore. She sure trapped herself in that one. She leaned a hip on the counter and stared at the water, which was still refusing to boil. “Smuggling, mostly.” That was the nicest of them. There was also theft and running and hiding and carefully curating identities, burying herself in names to hide her real one from the Empire. It had worked, didn’t it? The Empire had her in one of their very own prisons and had no idea. But she’d leave those parts out.

“Oh,” Galen said, looking at Lyra less hopefully than before. “Well, I’m sure it was very exciting.”

It was. Especially the times she almost died, which was most of them. Jyn pressed her lips together and nodded. Cassian was probably at his Abuela’s by now. She was certain that he’d never been this tongue tied in his life.

“Did Saw teach you about smuggling?” Lyra asked. Jyn nodded. She’d been sneaking bombs and guns into cities by the time she was ten; no one ever suspected children.

“Saw taught me lots of things,” Jyn said, getting her footing a little. It was easier to lie about Saw; he’d taught her how, after all.

Lyra and Galen nodded, inching closer again. She didn’t get the hint until Lyra prompted her.

“Like what?”

“Oh,” Jyn looked back at the water. Still not boiling. “How to protect myself,” she said, cautiously leaving _blaster_ and _knife_ and any kind of weapon from her answer. “How to hide. Change my name, like you wanted.” She couldn’t help the next bitter answer, spouting from an old bunker in her head. “Patience,” her mouth made it into a snarl. “Self reliance.”

“That’s good, Stardust,” Galen said, smiling at her. “You’re grown into a formidable woman. You even arrived with Alliance members, is that right? How did you end up joining the rebellion?”

Jyn thought of hitting Melshi with the shovel, and of Kay grabbing her by the throat. “Very recently,” she settled on. “Cass – Captain Andor recruited me.” There. That sounded better than kind-of-rescued, kind-of-kidnapped, kind-of-blackmailed.

“That’s good,” Lyra said, smiling at her.

Anger suddenly boiled in her, and she had to look away, staring out the window. Was it? Was it really good? Was it _really_ good that Galen had ever gotten involved in the Empire in the first place, working all those years on Coruscant willingly before things with Krennic went sour? Was it _really_ good that Lyra had acted so brashly, attacking a well-armed and defended Krennic while her daughter watched from the grass? Was it _really_ good that she’d ended up with Saw, who dumped her at his first chance? Was it _really_ good that she’d been attacked and had fought and had felt so lonely sometimes that she had thought she would collapse with it?

Her parents were there, smiling, because they thought she’d become some kind of rebel hero. Like she’d fulfilled her fate of fixing their mistakes. But all she could see were the years she’d spent without them: when she got her first period after a particularly brutal fight, and was convinced she had internal bleeding, when she spent her days in debilitating fear before she told Saw, who told her it was nothing but _moon sickness_ ; her first fist fight with a Stormtrooper that ended in an entire foot of broken toes Saw refused to set, because she’d dropped her blaster, and because she needed to learn about pain; when she stopped counting her age by her birthday and instead by her mother’s death day.

Then there was the time after Saw, when she’d survived by leaving, always leaving, always running. And here her parents were, wanting in. Asking questions she wouldn’t answer, that only got darker and quieter the longer she stayed silent. She started to think of her own questions, but those she couldn’t ask yet. She needed distance and time, but didn’t know how to communicate that.

The god damn water _still_ wasn’t boiling.

“I told my friends I’d meet them soon,” Jyn blurted suddenly, unsure where the lie was coming from, but fiercely glad it had.

“Of course,” Galen said immediately, looking away from the cups Lyra had just retrieved from the cupboard. Lyra looked at them and then set them back quickly.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted as well,” Lyra said, and Jyn nodded, clinging to the excuse.

“Our door is always open for you, Stardust,” Galen said. All Jyn could do was nod stupidly again.

“I love you, Jyn,” Lyra said, the words suddenly so much that Jyn was glad she’d stayed where she was, a few feet away. “And I’m very happy to see you. But I’m sorry it was so soon. I wished you had more time. I wished all of us did.”

“I love you too, Stardust,” Galen said, and Jyn nodded fiercely. It felt like her jaw had been wired shut.

Her parents let themselves out and Jyn took a heaving breath when she heard the door close, slapping her hands on her counter and catching herself. There was a painful sting behind her eyes. She screwed her face tightly, shoving the feeling back. She jammed the dial off on the stove and spun, almost sprinting for the back door.

///

Jyn did what she did best. She ran.

A sick, furious part of her was snarling happily; this was what she was meant to do – to run and run and run and never look back, not for anyone.

She crashed into the forest, snapping twigs and branches as she flew into it, creating her own path as she demolished branches and stamped on rotting logs. She ignored sharp stings as she was scratched by twigs, ignored the heaving of her breath, ignored the fact that she had no clue where she was going. She wanted _away, away, away_ and this seemed like her best option.

Her parents had kept their distance from her, as if from a wounded animal. Maybe that was what she was: injured beyond repair. That thought made her even more furious, because it seemed to label her as _victim_ , so she felt her agency slip through her fingertips. That felt worse than her parents’ dull ignorance. Survivor was almost as bad, but it at least felt better than victim. Except she couldn’t claim that anymore, because she hadn’t survived. She was dead.

The realization kept coming back to her, startling through her like a blaster bolt to the chest. She was dead. This was death. This was Heaven, which she’d somehow earned. She thought when she died, things would be easier. But the Force loved to mess with her.

She didn’t know how long she ran, jumping logs and stamping through creeks, swinging from low hanging branches and crashing through bushes. She ran until she had to stop, her heart beating so hard it felt like it might give out altogether. Jyn skidded to a stop in a wide cleaning, dropping against a tree. Could she die, if she was already dead? Jyn leaned her forehead against the tree and nearly laughed, but she couldn’t, not when she was breathing so hard.

She wondered if the forest would just go on forever, and if she could go in that direction, never to return. All she had to do was ask, right?

She wondered what would happen if she didn’t go back. Maybe her house would disappear. She wouldn’t mind that. Maybe her parents would worry, but they knew she was in the Good Place, and didn’t that guarantee safety? Maybe they would go look for her. Her friends would. She could just see Chirrut, bounding lithely over branches while Baze watched over him. Kay would calculate the statistical chances of them finding her – it would probably be low, since his statistics were usually calculated off the worst case scenario, though you couldn’t tell him a word about it. Bodhi would keep close to everyone, probably scared out of his mind, but still looking for her. He would probably jump every time Cassian called her name, called her back to them.

 _And for you, Jyn_ , he’d said.

She thought of her parents. She thought of Rogue One.

Jyn collected herself, letting her breathing calm down again. She glanced up at the sun, and then turned around and began to walk back.

When she reached her house, she found someone was already in the backyard. Chirrut was posed on the grass, facing the trees. He was sitting with his legs crossed, hands on his knees. Jyn approached him silently, wondering if he knew she was there at all. He answered that soon enough.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said as she grew closer. “Our backyard is excellent, but I wanted to be near these trees. I had never experienced such a forest until Yavin.”

“It’s fine,” she said, walking up beside him. She stopped and looked out into the forest. “What difference does it make? If you can’t see it?”

Chirrut smiled. “Perhaps if you sat next to me and closed your eyes, you would understand.”

Jyn sighed, eliciting a laugh from Chirrut. They both knew she’d walked herself into that one. As she sat beside him, she wondered when the hell she got so good at walking into traps. Saw would be very disappointed.

Jyn shut her eyes and breathed in. She felt… absolutely nothing.

“Open your mind,” Chirrut said, as if hearing her thoughts. “And sit straight. Open your shoulders and open your heart, it will increase blood flow.”

“We’re dead,” Jyn muttered. “I think we’re past the point of worrying about blood flow.”

Chirrut chuckled quietly, and the low, happy sound set something off in her, drawing up the anger she couldn’t run off. Jyn blurted what she’d been thinking since they’d arrived. “What’s wrong with you?”

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Jyn wanted to crawl back into the woods. “I mean – no one else has been – you’ve been – “

“I am not unaffected by our deaths,” Chirrut said quietly, again reading her mind. “I have been rocked, just as deeply as you. I, however, have an outlet – meditation. And I do not have my parents or mentors hovering nervously at my shoulder, which helps.”

Jyn slouched and opened her eyes to look at him. “Are they here?”

“My parents greeted us yesterday,” Chirrut said. “Along with a line of some of Baze and mine old mentors, as well as Baze’s parents. But they have since left us, to allow us make sense of our fate.”

“That’d be nice,” Jyn muttered. Jyn cast a glance over her shoulder.

“They are not there,” Chirrut told her, reading her mind once again. “But I imagine they are eager to see their only daughter, of who they only know a few things. That she died very recently. That she arrived with Galen’s Imperial defector, two Guardians of Willis, an Imperial droid, and one of the Rebellion’s most prolific spies. I imagine it would be very difficult to contain excitement at their daughter’s sudden, heroic appearance, when all they have known is silence for years.”

“Close your eyes,” Chirrut urged her gently, but Jyn stared at him for a beat longer, then looked to the forest.

“I doubt they know who Cassian is,” she said, the only thing she could think of disputing. Chirrut smiled.

“Alright,” Chirrut gave, speaking out to the trees. “One of the Rebellion’s most valuable agents. Is that better?” Jyn nodded. “I am sure we all woke with the same question about Galen’s plans, and not much else. Those are very few pieces to puzzle together what? A decade apart?”

Jyn thought about it for a moment before she allowed, “Longer.”

“Close your eyes,” he tried for a third time. Jyn sighed and gave in, screwing her eyes shut. His voice was oddly soft, its usual smug tone dropped entirely. “I understand that you have had a rough life, Jyn. Rougher than most. Probably rougher than mine.”

Jyn thought of Jedha, blown to pieces. She opened her mouth to argue, but Chirrut continued.

“And I am sure that your family is eager to know the details of your life, and perhaps these are difficult to speak about. After all – there are many difficult things in my life that I would not wish my parents to know of me. It is hard to find a way to tell them gently, especially when they are persistent.”

Jyn wanted to ask where he’d been lurking when her parents came over, but kept her mouth shut. She knew the question would be for naught, anyways. She was sure Chirrut had been nowhere near them. Instead, he was pulling on that strange magic he worshipped.

Chirrut said, “But was it all bad? Was every moment so terrible?”

Jyn wanted to say yes immediately, to snap at him for even asking. Of course, it was terrible – how could it not be? Mother murdered in front of her, father kidnapped, and Jyn, swept off to become a child soldier. None of that was good or kind or happy.

But, almost unwillingly, other memories began to shine through. First, her last days. The incredible settling of peace that had settled on her on that beach, holding tightly to Cassian. Though it had since abandoned her, she remembered it. She remembered how it wound around her, shielding her from the blast.

There was more. Meeting the Guardians, meeting Bodhi Rook. Confirmation of her father’s life. Even Kay, snarking at her before telling her that she was an anomaly.

And then there was the rest of Cassian – snooping through his bag, the long flights between planets, the Jedha markets, _welcome home_. Even when she wanted to rip him apart after Eadu. Every second had shone, because they were lit with purpose. Hope.

Even before that, before Wobani. When she was a child, and she hit the target for the first time with her blaster and Saw had patted her shoulder. When she had badly sprained her ankle on a mission, and Saw strapped her to his back and carried her, all the way back to their ship. Saw’s smile when she turned fourteen, and she’d found the vicious blade he’d left in her boot.

There were other moments, too, things from Lah’mu and Coruscant. But there were moments alone too, bright victories that were her own. One in particular stood out. Just a few days after Saw left her, when she’d finally clued in that he’d left her, and she left the safehouse. She boarded a ship to a nearby moon, and when she arrived, the locals were in the middle of some kind of light festival. Jyn remembered looking at all the candles, fresh off her first flight alone, and she thought _I can do this_. She didn’t need anyone to help her. She could rely on herself, because she had to. It was a sad thought, but it was also reassuring. _I can do this_.

And she did, didn’t she? She even knew what she was walking into with Scarif, in a way. She knew it was a suicide mission. She knew she was likely to die. But she did it anyways. Up on the walkway above the Citadel, when Krennic had aimed his blaster on her, she had thought the same thing. _I can do this_.

She was no longer faced with a fight. Peace was more terrifying than anything she’d faced before. Even death. She breathed out. _I can do this_.

“You and Captain Andor are very similar,” Chirrut said suddenly, calling her back gently from her memories. Jyn snorted. “I’m serious.” Chirrut said, a smile in his voice. “In fact, I just had a similar conversation with Cassian about his family and his life.”

Jyn opened her eyes again and looked at Chirrut. Chirrut tilted his head towards her and raised an eyebrow. It was clear he wouldn’t speak again until she’d resumed her position. Jyn pressed her tongue against her cheek and shut her eyes again.

“You know how Cassian feels about his position in the rebellion. That his work has made him unworthy of this place.”

Jyn couldn’t help whirling at that, “He gave everything for the cause, worked himself to the bone – “

“And that is what I told him,” Chirrut interrupted her calmly.  He reached his hand out and landed it on her foot on his first try. “Though I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to hear it from more than one mouth. Especially if that mouth was yours.” He squeezed her foot and let go, returning his hands to his knees.

Jyn doubted it. “I said he was nothing better than a Stormtrooper. I doubt he wants my opinion.”

Chirrut smiled, and then said, “Did you know that the Force moves darkly around someone that is about to kill?”

Jyn hadn’t. Something about the idea caught in her mind, as she watched shadows surround her in her imagination, bursting into black whenever she spotted a Stormtrooper or an easy target. She almost wanted to ask more – did the darkness stay, even after death? Was it following her now? But she also knew Chirrut had a point to make, so she said, “No.”

Chirrut said, “I have  felt it hundreds of times, around Stormtroopers and Partisans alike. It was easy to recognize when we came to Eadu. But Cassian changed the way the Force moved. He pushed back. And he did that for you, because you showed him something.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jyn’s dry tone said, “What was that?”

“Hope,” Chirrut said simply, and Jyn nearly snorted. “You glow with it, Jyn. You have since I met you, just as Cassian does. You inspired it in all of us, the two of you. You’ve both had rough lives. But you have both wrung hope from it.”

Jyn didn’t immediately respond. Chirrut was patient. Finally, she said, “If I have hope, it’s only because Cassian gave it to me.”

“You’ve worn your mother’s necklace all this time?” Jyn’s fingers went up to touch it instinctively. She forgot, sometimes, that it was real. That others could see it, and shift meaning from it. She didn’t ask how he knew it had been her mother’s; he could’ve spoken to Lyra herself, for all she knew. Chirrut continued, “Perhaps Cassian woke it in you, but I believe you’ve always had it.  He reminded you of it.” He was quiet for a long while, and then said, “You can do this.”

The eeriness of his last words took her voice from her and she stayed in silence. She had her hope to owe to Cassian. Maybe what Chirrut said was true, but it had started in Cassian. None of this would’ve happened without him. She didn’t mean their deaths – she meant the goodness he had wrought, the plans and the fight and the family they had found.

“You can do this,” Chirrut said again. Jyn breathed out, let her shoulders loosen. He was right. She could do this.

///

Trying to find peace was like learning how to shoot a blaster without her fingers. Jyn couldn’t get the hang of it, no matter how firmly her mother insisted she’d earned her share of peace, and no matter how deeply her conversation with Chirrut had affected her. But not even Chirrut’s words could heal a lifetime of wounds. That needed more – more reflection, more breath, more time. At least she seemed to have enough of all three.

The first few days were the worst. Her parents came over a couple more times, just as unexpectedly as the first, and Jyn had been leeched of all her words. At least they hadn’t caught her alone again; anytime they appeared, one of Rogue One was always with her. The last time it had been Kay who appeared, telling her parents all the ways that their “progeny was exceedingly unpredictable and annoying”. Her parents had tried to puzzle whether he was complimenting her or insulting her while Jyn slipped away.

They all had standing invitations to the Rook’s and Andor’s every night, which they’d only taken up on one occasion each. They both had massive families that were well-meaning, if totally overwhelming. At least it had been good for Jyn’s anxiety, which was somewhat smoothed by seeing Cassian and Bodhi at their respective families’ dinners. She recognized a familiar strain in Bodhi and Cassian when they spoke with their families, biting back tragedies and scaling back pain, all for their families’ sakes. Jyn left both dinners completely exhausted. She wasn’t used to so much attention, or so much care.

At first, Jyn thought what she wanted was silence and time alone, but her new house proved her wrong almost immediately. There was a stillness to the home that unsettled Jyn. She’d never slept somewhere so quiet, used to the background noise of hostels and alleys, to the snores of her cellmates and the march of Stormtroopers outside of her door. The lack of sound was just as cacophonous as a war outside her door.

All the furniture in the home was soft and well-made. She would toss and turn as she sunk into her bed; it was like trying to sleep on a cloud, and Jyn gave up on that on the first night, curling up on the cold hardwood flooring instead. On and off she’d sleep for about two hours, until she’d get up to wander instead, inspecting the places her parents designed for her: there was a room full of childhood artefacts, Stormy lying in the center of a large rug. The sight was so unnerving that Jyn had shut the door immediately and hadn’t returned since. Another room looked like their little home on Lah’mu, but it kept turning to ash in her eyes, and she couldn’t spend more than a minute in it a night. There were plants scattered throughout the house, ones that Jyn eyed and prodded suspiciously, running through the lists of poisons that Saw had her memorize at ten.

The windows were as bad as the silence. They were everywhere, wide and uncurtained, so she was always looking outside, and the outside was always looking at her. She had a vague notion of her parents’ plans; they knew pieces of her past somehow (one of the questions she hadn’t dared to ask), so they probably knew about her time on Wobani. Maybe the idea was to make her feel free. Instead, it made her feel like an animal at a zoo, and she couldn’t shake the slimy eyes that rolled along her back.

She was wired because she was so unsettled, exhausted because she hadn’t slept for days. Her only respite was the rest of Rogue One. Bodhi still had shakes in his hands and couldn’t sit still without something in his hands to tinker with. Kay’s eyes were constantly adjusting, widening and spinning, like he expected to be caught and sent away at any moment. Jyn could relate. She didn’t understand how she ended up someplace called _good_ either.

Baze and Chirrut seemed somewhat unsettled but were better every day. They were adapting better than anyone. The third morning, she woke to find their two Naboo homes replaced by one sandstone home in the Jedhan fashion, tall but still modest.

Cassian was different still, with heavy bags that mirrored the ones under her own eyes. But he always had a half-smile when he saw her and assessed her similar state. At least he seemed to feel the same way about peace: it wasn’t nearly as easy as it’d seemed.

Jyn sometimes wondered if they had survived, if they’d somehow won the war – was this what it would be like? Exhausted confusion, aimlessness and wandering? Was this what they had fought for?

The morning Jyn looked out her front window and found the new Jedhan home, she left her house quietly and entered without knocking. The interior was brown and green, a sharp contrast to the cool white and blue her parents had chosen for her. The first floor was all a living room that opened up into a kitchen, and a set of stairs that led into a darkened second floor.

Jyn went to the couch and sunk onto it, sighing with relief when it didn’t immediately swallow her whole. A clock ticked on the wall and, distantly, she could hear what she was thought was Baze’s snores. She pulled her knees onto the couch and slipped down, shutting her eyes.

Jyn jerked awake to the sound of footsteps, but Chirrut’s voice was soft, falling on her at the same time as a rough woven blanket, “Rest, Jyn.”

She didn’t sleep after that, not with all the sounds of Chirrut stepping lightly through the kitchen, making something on the stove. Then Baze was lumbering down the stairs, grumbling incoherently about the hour. It was the first time she’d felt comfortable – _really_ comfortable – in this _Good_ Place, and so she was content to rest with her eyes shut as she listened to them bustle around one another, making breakfast and bickering lovingly like it was an old, beloved song.

Her eyes crept open again at the sound of a third set of feet coming down the stairs. Bodhi smiled when he saw her, twisting a length of wire between his fingers. “They came up with it last night, after you left. It reminds me of home,” he said, touching the wall. “And they have extra rooms.”

Bodhi continued into the kitchen, pitching his voice lower as he spoke to Baze and Chirrut. Jyn shut her eyes and slid back into the couch again, curling up so the blanket covered her feet. She listened as Baze took over from Chirrut and began to teach Bodhi how to make their breakfast, giving him directions in a low voice. The back door opened and shut, and Jyn guessed it was Chirrut, going to meditate.

“Add a sprinkle of that,” Baze said. “Little more. Good. Stir it until it starts to clump and separate.”

A soft knock at the door, and Jyn didn’t need to open her eyes to know who it belonged to. She did anyways, and started to rise, before a heavy hand fell onto her shoulder.

“Rest,” Baze said, going to the door. The word caught in Jyn’s mind, like mud on a boot. It was the same that Chirrut had used; she had a vision of the two of them discussing her quietly, concern sprinkling their words as they talked about the bags under her eyes and the slouch of her shoulders.

Jyn rolled her head over and watched Baze open the door, letting in Cassian and Kay, who didn’t even have to stoop to enter. It was like whoever gave this place to Chirrut and Baze had the hulking droid in his mind. Cassian dipped his chin in greeting when he saw her, starting towards her when she drew her knees up in a silent invitation. He sat on the cushion at her feet, and she laid her cheek against the back cushion to watch him. Cassian dropped his hand around her ankle almost unconsciously, brushing the spot between her pant leg and sock.

“How’d you sleep?”

Jyn shrugged, finding her tongue twisted when she tried to lie to him. Cassian’s thumb ran over her Achilles’ heel.

“Probably as well as you,” she said finally, and Cassian shook his head, but it was with a smile.

Jyn sunk down a little on the couch, pulling the blanket up her chin. She watched Kay lurch over to the kitchen, inspecting what Baze and Bodhi were making. Chirrut was tending to a couple of succulents on the window sill, putting an experimental finger in their soil to measure their dryness.

“I can’t remember the last time someone made me breakfast,” Cassian said lowly, following her gaze. Jyn nodded.

“I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to steal it,” she told him. He smiled a little at her; a half-smile, for a half-joke.

The same thought passed their minds. They were in the good place – the _good_ place. Jyn was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for some monster to jump out at them and laugh. But deep in her bones, she knew that the woman called Lyra really was her mother, and she knew that the man touching her was Cassian, and she knew the men in the kitchen were the real deal.

They sat and watched one another for a moment, watched that thought float over both of their faces. She was again hit with gratitude that he was there with her. She relaxed a little into the couch, and wondered what would happen if she asked him to come closer.

Jyn stomped on the voice like a weed, dropping her eyes to his jacket. She pushed her feet forward, tucking her toes under his thigh. His thumb ran over her Achilles heel again.

Bodhi wandered over with two plates of eggs, handing one to each of them. He paused and twisted his hands for their first bites, waiting for their judgement. But Baze was a good teacher.

“This is delicious, Bodhi,” Cassian said. Jyn wasn’t sure if she was a good judge, since she’d once eaten tree bark for a month with Saw, and was likely to devour anything you gave to her. But she smiled and thanked him as well, which seemed to mean a lot to him, because his shoulders loosened and his smile grew.

Bodhi ruffled her hair, leaving her bangs in a state that made Cassian laugh. She would’ve shanked just about anyone else that would’ve tried that, but he returned to the kitchen with a spring in his step, and she couldn’t bring herself to it. She fixed her bangs instead, sinking lower into the couch with the plate of eggs in her lap. Cassian’s leg was warming her toes, and Baze and Chirrut’s home was so comfortable. _You have to ask for what you want_ her mother had said. She wondered how.

Cassian was eating one-handed, because his other hand was still curled around her ankle, tracing soft circles around her Achilles’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characterization after death is HARD. Also I decided to do this on my practicum semester, so the joke's really on me.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://clytemnestrad.tumblr.com/).


	2. said you’d never break my heart (never leave me in the dark)

…

_now my heart stumbles on things I don’t know/ my weakness I feel I must finally show_

…

Bodhi convinced her and Cassian to go on a walk with him the next morning, on evidence that they were the only two that hadn’t yet left their neighbourhood. “Even Kay’s come with me up to the lake,” he said, which was what sold Jyn. She didn’t even know there was a lake, and she loved to swim.

Besides, Kay had returned from his walk with Bodhi the day before a lot calmer than he had been since they arrived. His eyes weren’t clicking and zooming nearly as often. Maybe it was some kind of magic lake. Even just thinking that sounded ridiculous, but she wasn’t sure what to expect from this place anymore.

Bodhi took them along a path behind what used to be his house but had changed into a garage since he’d moved in with Baze and Chirrut. He had a couple of land speeders and a whole X Wing to tinker with and had promised Jyn a flying lesson once he finished whatever modifications he was making.

The path took them into the woods, but not very deeply. Jyn’s runs, which had become a daily habit, took her east, straight into the trees. This path was driving them west along the tree line, in a direction Jyn hadn’t explored yet.

The path wasn’t wide enough to accommodate all three of them, so Bodhi took the lead, basically walking backwards so he could tell them about the mods he was doing on his X Wing. Jyn had a passable knowledge about ship mechanics, enough to work with in a pinch, but nothing to the degree of what Bodhi was saying. Cassian could keep up, however, his knowledge of droid technology translating nicely to what Bodhi was saying.

Jyn paid attention to the landscape around them instead, half-listening as Bodhi and Cassian began in on something about engine modifications. She wondered if the forest was purposefully modelled after Yavin; it lacked the obtrusive humidity of the moon, but it was comfortably warm, and flora and fauna that Jyn had seen were identical. The only contradiction she’d seen was that very first street, where she’d met Cassian again, and all the flora was based off the architecture of the home behind it. Maybe this corner was based off Yavin for them; after all, they all had some memory of it, and, in Jyn’s case at least, some of it was positive.

(In her mind’s eye, she saw Cassian lean in towards her, backdropped by the forest, welcoming her home.)

Maybe the Force made the forest look like whatever style the watcher preferred. She would have to ask what Bodhi and Cassian saw when they were finished.

“Andor?”

Jyn was shoved out of her thoughts when the new voice appeared, setting her immediately on her guard. It didn’t drop when she confirmed the speaker; Cassian had named Ruescott Melshi as commander of the ground troops on Scarif. He still hadn’t forgiven her for the shovel when they were leaving Scarif; he would never forgive her for this.

“Melshi?” Cassian asked, sounding just as shocked as she felt. Jyn hung back warily as Melshi nodded at Bodhi, and then took Cassian’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good to see you, Andor,” he said in his usual brusque manner. “Course, not under the circumstances. But good to see you’re here, all the same.”

“Melshi,” Cassian said, “I’m sorry. Your husband – “

“Is a rebel soldier too,” Melshi interrupted. “He knows the risks, well as me. Nothing to apologize for, Captain.” Melshi released his hand. “And everyone else feels the same way.” His eyes shifted to Jyn, who had kept her distance. She was posed on the balls of her feet, ready. Melshi said, “No one blames either of you.”

Jyn watched him warily, looking for a lie. But she didn’t see one, or a reason for one.

“Erso,” he said, holding out his hand. Jyn watched him carefully until Cassian caught her eye. She took in Cassian’s expression then stepped forward cautiously, and shook Melshi’s hand. “Bodhi told us what you and the Captain did,” Melshi said. “You made the mission a success.”

“We don’t know if anyone received the transmission,” Jyn told him and Melshi released her hand, shaking his head.

“We’ve got hope for that,” Melshi said, glancing at Cassian. “That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Andor?”

Cassian nodded firmly. He looked down at Jyn. “Someone was listening,” he repeated her words back to her this time. She remembered doing the same for him, standing in the war room, even though he hadn’t been there. Jyn nodded, holding his eyes with her own.

“Couldn’t have done it without the ground troops,” she said, tearing her eyes from Cassian’s. “We would’ve been dead in minutes.”

“Yeah, you would’ve,” Melshi said approvingly. “Especially without any shovels on the island.” Jyn almost smiled, biting the corner of her mouth. “You’re coming down to the lake, then?”

“Yeah,” Bodhi interrupted suddenly, jumping as he scared himself. “They’re going to see it for the first time.”

Melshi smiled, “You’ll like it,” he said, more to Cassian than Jyn. “Haven’t met a rebel that didn’t.” Melshi clapped Cassian on the shoulder once more before continuing down the path, back the way they’d come.

“Bodhi,” Cassian said once Melshi had left. “What did he mean by that?”

“Not sure,” Bodhi said nervously before striding quickly down the path. Jyn and Cassian exchanged a look before they followed him.

By the time they caught up with Bodhi, the lake was in sight. But it wasn’t just a lake.

Laid out before them was a glittering lake, wide and green, good for swimming. But Jyn’s eyes hardly touched it, because there was something else that had caught her attention. Directly across from them was the wide mouth of a hangar, and people buzzing around in orange jumpsuits. There were people with light sticks taxiing X Wings out of the hangar’s mouth, and a familiar chaos of other movement, from carts to droids and more. It was like someone had taken a carbon copy of the Rebellion, and set it in the Good Place.

If it was startling for Jyn, it must’ve been twenty times more so for Cassian. She turned to him as soon as she could tear her eyes form the scene, and found him standing in shock, mouth open.

“I guess it’s hard to break old habits,” Bodhi said quietly. “Most of the rebels come out here every day, to work on ships and other stuff. They do some activities too. Drills, like they do on the real base, when they were… you know.”

Jyn was watching Cassian, who hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even shuttered his face into that impassive mask she hated so much. He was frozen, blinking fast, like he expected it to disappear anytime he opened his eyes. “Cassian?” Her voice was soft like Bodhi’s, softer than she knew herself capable of. It drew his eyes down to her. He shut his mouth and then looked back at the hangar.

“They call it Yavin Four and a Half,” Bodhi said with a weak laugh. “Most of the rebellion’s dead are here. I don’t know if they all are, but there sure are a lot. They keep a log, too, at the front, so you can look people up, get their datapad info…” He looked at Cassian. “Do you wanna go see it?”

Jyn watched Cassian. She wondered how many people he would know there – how many of his friends had died for the same cause he did. She waited for his answer before she gave hers. When Cassian nodded, Bodhi turned to her, and she nodded too.

The walk around the lake seemed long, but that was probably because she was half-dreading reaching the hangar. Fear and guilt were washing through her, threatening to overwhelm her. Melshi’s words had done nothing to soothe her. Focusing on Cassian made it easier. He was quiet in a way that set her on edge; he was usually quietly, but this was a different kind of quiet. He kept fidgeting and swallowing, staring at the hangar mouth. Jyn thought of the way her mother used to squeeze her father’s hand when he needed strength, but she didn’t know if the action would be welcome.

When they wandered into the hangar, there was no applause; there was no parade, no fireworks, and for that, Jyn was grateful. Everyone was rushing around, getting work done for imaginary deadlines and their own enjoyment, wrapped tightly up in their tasks. The hangar was an exact copy of the one on the real Yavin, with the same walls, dimensions, and set up. There was a line of X Wings to her left, a trio of U Wings on the right. There were speeders on lifts for the mechanics to get underneath, and droids whirring as they passed. With every step inside, Cassian’s shoulders loosened.

“Captain Andor?” A soldier Jyn didn’t recognize approached them, performing a similar ritual as Melshi, thanking them and clapping Cassian on the soldier. Then was another, and another, until a steady trickle of people were walking up to them. Jyn recognized a few from Scarif, and those ones would acknowledge her too, most already having spoken with Bodhi. But there were others, too, that she didn’t know, who spoke with Cassian like it’d been longer than a few days since they’d seen him.

“Erso?” She flinched instinctively, still scared of people knowing her real name. But it was a girl she recognized from Scarif; a young black woman who Jyn remembered having been one of their number. “We’ve all heard about the Citadel, and your and Captain Andor’s climb – it’s incredible.”

Soon, the Scarif crowd was approaching her too, thanking her and shaking her hand. No one was angry or upset with her. The knot of guilt in her stomach slowly unravelled; the attention wasn’t overwhelming, but it was steady. She’d checked in on Cassian a couple times, but he never seemed uncomfortable. When she looked at him, he looked brighter than she’d seen him in days.

“Jyn,” he said at one point, drawing her away from her conversation with another man thanking her for Scarif. He apologized to the man and turned to her, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

She was a woman in her fifties, grey hair pulled in a sleek bun, wearing a jade green dress like it was armor. “This is Eirtaé,” Cassian said, “She helped me with a lot of my spy training when I started in the rebellion. She’d served as a handmaiden for Queen Amidala of Naboo.”

Jyn knew the name Amidala, because she’d spent some of her time with the Partisans working with a group of Naboo rebels. She’d spent her watch with a woman who had told her about the mysterious death of the pregnant Amidala, who had loudly and strongly resisted Papatine in the Senate, and had died almost on the same day as his rise to power. She’d heard of Padme’s handmaidens, who had disappeared after Amidala’s suspected assassination, only to reappear in circles of dissent, stirring up trouble and the beginnings of Naboo’s resistance.

“Eirtaé, this is Jyn Erso,” Cassian said, watching eagerly. He said her name like she didn’t need more than that, packing such _feeling_ in it that Jyn fought back a blush.

“Jyn Erso,” Eirtaé said with a warm smile, taking her hand in both of her own. “I’ve heard often of you, since the Scarif folk arrived.”

Jyn smiled weakly, not sure how to respond to that. She glanced at Cassian, who nodded encouragingly. “What did you teach Cassian?”

“My specialty is in blades,” she said with a sharp smile. “Cassian’s a natural with the chakram.”

“Saw Gerrera trained me on a chakram when I was thirteen,” Jyn said, relaxing a little in the topic.

“Gerrea, huh?” Eirtaé said, and Jyn’s stomach almost plummeted at her mistake, but Eirtaé said, “I’ve heard he was a rough teacher. You must be tough as nails to work with him so young.”

“Didn’t have a choice,” Jyn said, and Eirtaé smiled.

“Still,” she said, "I wouldn’t want to share a swamp with Gerrera, let alone take a lesson from him.”

Jyn thought of a muggy week spent on Dagobah and shook her head, “That wasn’t fun either.”

Eirtaé laughed, and said, “Well, I’d like to see you two spar. Gerrera’s student against mine. See if Cassian’s kept up any of his skills.”

“I have,” he promised her, and Jyn thought about what Eirtaé said about sparring. Was there a training center here? She certainly wouldn’t turn down hitting the mats. Hitting something would make her feel a lot better.

“Eirtaé!” Cried a girl across the hangar, calling her attention. Eirtaé waved at her and she turned quickly back to Cassian and Jyn.

“I need to get back to work, but if you need someone to show you around, let me know. You’re in good hands with Rook, though,” she said, smiling. “Nice meeting you, Jyn. It’s good to see you, Cassian, I want to talk to you later, when you’re more settled.”

Eirtaé squeezed Cassian’s shoulder before turning, going to the girl that called her name. Bodhi approached them a little nervously, wrapping a piece of thin twine around his fingers, over and over.

“So, um. Was it – was it an okay… okay surprise?”

Cassian turned towards him, smile wide. “It was a great surprise, Bodhi. Thank you.” Jyn bowed her head in agreement. She hadn’t been reunited with dead loved ones like Cassian, but so many of Scarif’s dead had spoken with her, and believed they succeeded. It meant something.

They spent the rest of the day wandering the base, which sprawled for miles back into the compound. There were command rooms and war rooms, and rooms where techs were experimenting, and droid maintenance bays, and everything the rebellion had, even a small round of bunks in the back. By the time they left, Cassian nearly had a _spring_ in his step, so happy that he slung an arm around each of their shoulders, squeezing them together to fit on the path. Jyn wasn’t used to seeing Cassian so happy and loose, and though she knew he had his arm around Bodhi too, his action made her blush from her head to her toes, feeling warmer and happier than she had since she arrived. It made her brave enough to reach up and hold the hand on her shoulder, which made Cassian smile down on her, bright as the goddamn sun.

///

The master bathroom in Jyn’s house was the only room in her home without a window, and so she spent a lot of her nights there, fiddling with taps and peering through drawers. That night, she settled in front of the mirror, cross legged on the counter, watching her reflection curiously. She hadn’t had many opportunities to do so, since Saw had never seen a use for mirrors, and so never had any. She kept the habit of avoiding them, even after he left her, and hadn’t missed it until she looked into a mirror around twenty and was startled at her own reflection. She’d grown into a woman and hadn’t even realized it.

Tonight, Jyn was watching her hair. She’d always cut it to hide her face, wearing long bangs because they were good for hiding her profile, and changed her look dramatically when she pinned them back. The tiny, tight bun at the back of her head had always been for practicality’s sake. That was what she had thought, until she saw her mother. She couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s hair and how she’d unconsciously mimicked it.

Jyn took out her bun, shaking her hair out with her fingers until it lost the form left by her bun. She wasn’t wearing makeup, either, and she thought she looked strangely young with her hair like that. She actually looked her age.

(Obtrusive, curious questions banged into her mind, an occasion that was becoming commonplace: would she age here? Did anyone age here? Would she be this age for the rest of eternity?)

She squeezed her eyes shut, dispelling the questions, and reached for the half dozen hair ties she’d found in one of the drawers. She began to experiment with them. She tried a ponytail, but it looked a little odd, and her hair wasn’t quite long enough, leaving clumps at the base of her neck. Braids made her look like a child and were immediately ruled out. Leaving it down was out of the question. That felt strangely vulnerable. She ran her fingers through her hair and pinned it to her head – maybe she could cut it short. She released it, ruling that out. She didn’t need it, but she liked having the ability to change her look so easily.

Jyn gave up, tying it back into a low bun. She didn’t look like herself otherwise.

///

They returned to the afterlife’s rebellion the next day, and the next. They found slots for themselves in the work. Even though there was no war to fight, the rebels knew how to keep busy. There were techs working on ships, pilots taking them out for joy rides and drills, droids that needed to be repaired from wear. There were other, bigger projects too. There was a sector that was entirely devoted to mapping out the Good Place. Another was working on building a window to the living, headed by none other than Lyra. Apparently, she had founded the projects just days after she arrived, but had since reduced her workdays to twice a week, sharing the responsibility of running it with several other rebels. She worked from a small laboratory in her home on the other days.

 Jyn ran into her on the way to droid maintenance, where Cassian was giving Kay a tune up, and meeting there, on common ground, had led to their least uncomfortable conversation yet.

“I’m happy,” Lyra told her, “That you’re finding a space for yourself here. That’s important.”

Yavin Four and a Half had a small council, elected into office by other rebels. Jyn shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the infamous Padme Amidala sat at their helm, the brain behind the mapping of the Good Place. Amidala had also established support groups and therapy centers to help the dead make sense of their passing and make the sudden separation from the living easier.

There was another comfort, though she didn’t voice it. Finding out that there were others that struggled with peace – just knowing that she wasn’t alone was a powerful thing.

Slowly, more members of the Scarif team began to approach them. Jyn was expecting anger and fury, expecting to take a few hits to the jaw (she made the conscious decision not to block any swings). But most thanked her; some wanted the story from her mouth first. She saw Melshi often, and by the evening of the second day, he even nodded at her. It was more than he was willing to do when they were alive.

Slowly, people who weren’t on Scarif began to approach them too. She got the shock of her life when she took a wrong turn and accidentally wandered into a bar, where half the room saluted her with their beers. Word had spread of the feats on Scarif, and she and Cassian seemed to be their stars. Jyn suspected Bodhi. He’d gone out drinking one night, somewhere on base, and the next day, new details of their escape had emerged.

Her suspicions of Bodhi were only influenced by the sharpening of her own memories, and the return of the last things that had been kept from her. The big things had already been there – the green light, Cassian on the beach with her – but the details finally appeared. She couldn’t remember pain, but she remembered breath in her ear, stubble scratching her cheek, a protective hand on the back of her head. But she didn’t remember pain. Did the sand fly up, like on Jedha? Did the sea swell? Did the light hurt? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she would never remember. Its importance seemed to fade every day.

///

Running became a daily habit. Even with tasks at the base, she still felt uncomfortably untethered. She no longer had to find the basic necessities for herself every day, no longer needed to fight for food, water, and shelter, on top of credits, a job, a charge for her blaster, and anything else she needed to keep herself hidden. Food was always in her fridge, water always in the pipes, new, more comfortable clothes always appeared in her closet, and her holster always empty. There was no one left to fight, so she focused on the forest, exploring as much as she could.

One morning, before she’d left, she’d gone to invite Cassian along.

It was even better with him, their natural competitiveness emerging, elbow tangling once they hit Jyn’s little deer path. With Cassian pushing her, it was the fastest she’d run, and this time, when she stopped in the clearing with a heaving chest, she wasn’t alone. And she _laughed_. High and loud and clear, she laughed breathlessly, until Cassian’s low, happy laugh joined hers. He’d dropped in front of her and threaded their knees, vaguely like the beach. She leaned forward, falling until her head hit his shoulder so she could feel his laugh, as well as hear it.

One morning, when Jyn went to get him, Cassian’s home was gone. She nearly flew into a panic but he called her name from across the street before she could.

“I meant to catch you at your door,” he said. She looked to the empty plot where his home used to sit, and he said, “Baze and Chirrut have another spare room.” She watched him shrug, looking to his feet. “I’ve never lived alone before. It was… strange.”

Jyn nodded slowly. He didn’t look so tired anymore. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than I have been,” he told her, and Jyn nodded. It was enough for her.

They took off on their usual route, sprinting until they reached their clearing. They’d gone a bit slower than usual, so Jyn wasn’t completely out of breath when they reached it. Still, they stopped to take a break, crouching at the small stream on the other side. Jyn cupped water to the back of her neck next to Cassian, washing away the worst of her sweat.

“How have you been sleeping?” Cassian asked. She looked up at him and knew she couldn’t lie.

“Couple hours a night,” she said, shrugging at his expression. “It’s what I’m used to.”

“You could come stay with us,” Cassian said. Jyn glanced at him. Chirrut and Baze only had three extra rooms, and since Kay had limbered in there and claimed the second the day before, there weren’t any more. She didn’t particularly feel like sleeping on their living room couch for the rest of eternity.

“There’s no more rooms,” Jyn said, focusing on the water so she didn’t have to look at him and risk letting him see her disappointment.

“You can stay with me.”

That had her attention. She looked up at him, watching him rub his neck and stare down at the stream. “There’s only one bed, but it’s huge. And the room is bigger than you’d think. I have my own bathroom.”

Jyn considered him, then looked back down at the water. “It’s probably not a good idea,” she said quickly, staring at a particularly smooth pebble below the surface. She would wake him constantly, she would invade the space he deserved. He didn’t need to feel badly that she missed out on the rooms; that was her own fault.

“Okay,” Cassian said quietly. A beat, and then he stood up. “Ready to go back?”

They ran back without their usual friendly jostling, and when they returned, Cassian went to Baze and Chirrut’s, and Jyn went to her empty, still house.

///

It hadn’t been a fight, but there was a nasty feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t shake. She wandered her house for the hours that followed, trying to convince herself to just go talk to him. _You’re no coward, Jyn Erso_ , she reminded herself again and again, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door and just do it.

Jyn could feel them about to get caught up in it, like the second when her ankle caught a trip wire and she only had enough time to swear before something bad happened. But, very abruptly, their almost-conflict was interrupted. Because, later that day, Alderaan arrived.

She knew something was wrong when she opened the door and saw Baze’s face. “With me, little sister.”

Baze explained it on the way. Chirrut had woke from his meditation abruptly, startled awake by a disturbance in the Force. He described it as a scream, suddenly cut off. He’d heard something similar before.

They’d rushed to the streets to find new neighbourhoods stretching as far as they could see. The sheer rush of people overwhelmed the streets of the Good Place, like not even the Force had expected this.

“The base is serving as headquarters,” Baze told her, striding so quickly that Jyn was jogging beside him. “They’re asking for volunteers.”

Jyn stopped suddenly, the words sinking into her mind. All of Alderaan – _all_ of it, that could only mean one thing –

The Death Star. Project Stardust. They’d failed. All of Alderaan was now in the Good Place because there was no Alderaan to house them. They’re _failed_.

Baze noticed she’d stopped and turned to see the realization crash into her, like being hit by a freighter. He stepped towards her, lifting a great hand to her cheek. It covered her from jaw to forehead, almost covering her eye.

“Not yet, little sister,” he told her. “Do not read the book without the words. Now, we have a job to do.”

He strode forward and Jyn followed, fully jogging now. Baze already had a job for her, sending her off to a neighbourhood she had to catch a land speeder to reach, datapad in hand. Land speeders were darting all over, transporting people with the same job as Jyn. She didn’t even see the others, carted off quickly to help direct lost Alderaanians.

There were no welcomers for them, no one like Lyra had been for Jyn. It really was like the Force had been caught off guard and was overwhelmed by the number of people. Jyn spent the entire day filling in the position poorly, guiding an endless line of Alderaanians to their homes, brusque and businesslike; otherwise, she wouldn’t make it through half the line. The Alderaanians weren’t angry or sad. Instead, they were blank and confused, unable to grasp what had happened to them. Jyn couldn’t meet any of their eyes, thinking that if she’d been faster, smarter, _better_ , she could’ve saved them. She could’ve stopped the Empire, if only she was better.

When Jyn finally finished leading the last family to their home, passing on the standard message that someone would be there to explain it all very soon, she turned back to the road and started to walk. She stopped when she saw the lights of a speeder approaching, slowing beside her. It was already crammed with people she recognized from the rebel base, including Melshi, who held out his hand for her.

“Hop on, Erso. Amidala’s called a meeting.”

Jyn took his hand and let him leverage her into the packed speeder, bending her kneeing and pressing her feet down to keep her balance when the speeder started, darting them back towards the base.

Other speeders were unloading when she returned, hoping over the side and immediately bumping into Bodhi, who was unloading from another speeder. He looked just as exhausted as she felt. The string he usually kept wound around his wrist was nearly worn through from all the fiddling.

The hangar was the only room that would accommodate them all, the people gathered around one of the lifts used for ship repairs. It had been lifted to its highest setting, and towered over everyone. Jyn recognized Padme Amidala standing at the top, hair pulled in a tight bun and wearing a buttoned leather jacket; she looked more ready for war than Jyn had ever seen her. Standing behind her was another woman, with her own brown hair pulled back in an intricate set of braids, covered in a blue veil that dropped all the way to her feet.

People were cramming in, trying to make room for everyone. Bodhi soon took her wrist, pulling him behind her. She let him, looking around for any sign of their friends.

“Bodhi! Jyn!” Baze’s deep voice carried over the crowd easily, and it only took them another moment to find them, leaned against the back wall. She met Cassian’s eye immediately, and saw the same fear written all over his face. But he didn’t look defeated, like she felt. She knew that look; it was the same look he’d given her on Jedha in the middle of the market, leaning in and speaking words that would hit her like a speeder.

“Princess Leia Organa,” he said. “She’s not among the dead.”

Jyn narrowed her eyes, trying to remember what she knew about the princess. A firebrand of a politician, Alderaan’s princess – she was probably off planet, on a diplomatic mission. Why did it matter that she wasn’t dead?

“If I can call for your attention,” Amidala said, her voice carrying boomingly across the hangar. Chatter stopped almost immediately. She nodded once. “My name is Padme Amidala, and I am an elected member of the Alliance’s Council here in the Good Place. The Council has asked me to speak on their behalf.’

“With our usual committees overwhelmed, you all stepped up to assist us in this tragic time. More support groups will be created, and more guides will be needed again tomorrow, to explain fully what the Good Place is. But for now, we have called you here to thank you, and explain the circumstances fully. Rumors have spread about today, and it is important to explain, fully, what has occurred.’

“Just days ago, a team of rebels called Rogue One sacrificed their lives to steal the plans to a powerful weapon called the Death Star. The plans were said to hold a fatal flaw, constructed secretly by the project’s head engineer, that would give the rebels a chance to destroy it. Today we witnessed the extent of the power of this super weapon, as it annihilated the entirely of the peaceful planet Alderaan, as well as every being on the planet.”

Padme paused, gathering herself. She looked through the crowd, making eye contact with several rebels before she continued.

“We have reason to believe that Rogue One’s efforts were not for nothing.” Jyn’s hand reached out of its own accord, curling into Cassian’s sleeve. “Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, is not among the dead. She is a formidable politician and, secretly, a powerful agent for the Alliance. Organa’s ship was said to intercept the transmission sent from Rogue One. Shortly after, her ship was taken by the Imperials. We believe she is now the hostage of Darth Vader.” Padme stopped again. She raised her chin, and said, “Yet Organa has not arrived. The fate of the plans, and every planet in any known system, likely rests in her capable hands.”

Padme’s eyes continued to scan through the crowd, and Jyn felt them land on her. She had the look of every poisonous plant Saw had ever shown her, all vibrance and beauty with hidden, rigid spikes.

“I ask you to trust in the Force as you trust in me.” Padme said, holding Jyn’s eye steadily, “Fortune favours the bold, and for now, the bold option is hope. Put your faith in Leia Organa. She has earned it.” She drew herself up, “Until we get a definite answer, we will continue to help those who have arrived here, and show them the same kindness that you all have shown me. Now, a brief word from the Queen of Alderaan and mother of Leia Organa,” Padme almost faltered, but said, “Breha Organa.”

The other woman stepped forward like she’d born the weight of her people all this time. She was as steady as a long-running storm. “I thank you for your kindness to my people. I understand that you have all worked hard today, and so I will keep this brief.” Breha Organa took a breath and said, “My daughter has never met a challenge she couldn’t conquer. If she received those plans, she would not release them. She would sooner welcome death – and yet she is not here. Before I believe in anything – the Jedi, the Force, even the Rebellion – I believe in her.”

She looked to Padme and nodded, stepping back. Padme stood tall, “Dismissed.”

The paths were packed on the way back, only a fraction of the crowd hanging around to continue work through the night. Jyn slotted herself into Rogue One’s clump as they shuffled through the crowd back to their homes. Baze and Chirrut were leading them, and Kay was sprouting anxious statistics at a nervous Bodhi, who nodded eagerly to the comfort he was clumsily offering. Cassian landed beside her, silent like her as they both stewed over what they’d learned.

Halfway there, it hit her very hard that when they arrived, she would be expected to return to her still, silent house, where it would ring in her ears until she went mad.

“Cassian?” She asked, very quietly. She knew he heard her because he tilted his head towards her. “Does your offer still stand?”

“Yes,” he said, and she felt herself relax, shutting her eyes. She left her arm against Cassian’s, letting it guide her.

No one questioned her as she followed them into the Jedhan home. No one said a word when she followed them all upstairs; there were no knowing looks, not hidden chuckles, and Jyn was grateful. It would’ve made her turn on her heel and bolt without a backwards glance.

Cassian’s was the last in the row of rooms, furthest from Bodhi and a set of stairs that Baze and Chirrut went up, with Kay in the middle. Jyn was surprised when Cassian palmed open the door, and the interior wasn’t Jedhan. It was exactly like the interior of a rebel bunk, maybe a bit larger, but extremely similar to what she’d seen when she was on Yavin IV.

“Sorry about the room,” Cassian said, looking self conscious as he eyed the spartan, empty room. “I think it picked what it thought I’d feel most comfortable in.”

Jyn shook her head, taking in the bare walls and the locker at the foot of the bed. The bed itself was large, like Cassian had told her, and probably was the only thing in the room that _might_ have been called above average; there was a metal desk in the corner and a lamp on a small metal table on one side of the bed. She wondered if the room was an exact replica of the one he’d left on Yavin IV.

“Fresher is here,” he showed her to a door on the same wall as the hall door, palming a panel on the wall that sent it sliding open. The bathroom was small and spartan, like the rest of the room. “You can go first, if you want.”

But even the prospect of a shower was exhausting. She shook her head. “I just want to sleep.”

As she spoke the words, she realized she didn’t have anything other than the clothes on her back. She resigned herself to sleeping in her fatigues when Cassian nodded, leaving her side. Jyn bent to unlace her boots, slipping her sore feet out of them. When she straightened, she found Cassian holding out a pair of his pants and a long sleeve shirt, the foot locker still open behind him. He handed them over to her wordlessly; the pants were thick and would be warm, the shirt was soft from wear.

“Thanks,” she said, watching him nod.

“You can change first,” he said, nodding to the fresher. “I need to get my boots off.”

Jyn nodded, padding carefully to the little fresher. She glanced at herself in the mirror only briefly before changing. She dropped all of her clothes carelessly as she changed, as she usually did, but paused when she finished. She spotted the neatly folded towel and his toothbrush, lined carefully up beside his razor. Jyn picked up her clothes and clumsily folded them before stepping out. Cassian brushed past her to change, touching her elbow lightly.

Jyn set her clothes next to her boots, where Cassian had lined them against the wall beside his. She reached up and pulled her hair from its bun, raking her fingers through it to loosen it from the curl it was stuck in from the bun.

Finally, she was met with the prospect she’d been avoiding. The bed was laid out before her, and Jyn realized what she’d asked of him, though he’d offered it first. She hovered awkwardly, wondering which side to take. Cassian was right; the bed would be large enough to leave a foot of space between them, maybe more. There were two pillows, and the large, dark blanket looked warm. It was luxurious compared to anything Jyn had slept in before; she tested it with her hand, looking for a flaw, but it wasn’t too soft, either.

He would probably want the side with the light, she concluded, but still couldn’t convince herself to move.

She turned at the sound of the fresher opening and watched as Cassian spotted her. He paused, blinking at her for a moment, like he’d had something to say but it had suddenly slipped his mind.

Jyn took the moment to notice the way he looked out of his fatigues; she’d never seen him outside of them, and the sight of Cassian Andor in loose sleeping pants and a t shirt was a lot to take. Her heart was suddenly thundering like she’d just run through the woods.

“Which side do you want?” She blurted. Cassian blinked a couple times before answering.

“Oh,” he said, looking at the bed like he’d forgotten it was there. “Doesn’t matter. Lamp side, maybe?”

She nodded, ducking her head and wandering around the side. The side with the lamp was also closest to the door, and that meant he’d be between her and the door. There was nothing to fear, here in the Good Place. But it was nice. To know that he had her back, all the same.

Cassian went to put his clothes in the footlocker and Jyn went to her side, pulling down the blanket and sliding in quickly, pulling the blanket up to her chest. Cassian slid in next to her, sitting up and facing the door.

“Light on or off?” He asked. Jyn looked over at him, sinking to lie on her back.

“Either,” she said. He hesitated, then turned off the light, so the only light coming in was a low glow from under the door.

The bed was big, but Jyn still felt him shift down, lying out beside her. She could see enough of his profile to know that he’d laid on his back too, hands folded on his chest. She watched him settle then turned her eyes to the ceiling too.

She was exhausted, but she felt wired too. Now she was just supposed to… sleep? After everything that happened today?

Jyn’s voice was soft. “An entire planet. It destroyed an entire planet. Jedha City was a lot, but… _Alderaan_. All those people.”

Cassian was quiet for a beat, and then he said, “Leia’s out there. And I believe she has the plans. I think you were right, Jyn. She was listening.”

Jyn caught the use of Leia’s given name over her surname or title and turned her head to look at him, feeling something odd in her stomach. “You knew her well?”

“A lot of my work overlapped with her work in command,” Cassian replied. He said, “She’s a lot like you, actually.”

Jyn snorted, looking back up at the ceiling. “A _princess_? A lot like _me_?”

Cassian laughed a little wearily. “Hear me out. She was raised as the child of the leader of the rebellion, and you the adoptive child of Saw, leader of the Partisans. You both grew up on the front lines of the rebellion, if in different ways. And she’s almost as stubborn as you.”

Jyn turned on her side, shooting her fist out to collide with what she was pretty sure was his shoulder. Cassian let out a soft _oof_ on impact but chuckled again. She left her fist there, against his shoulder. Jyn watched his profile, highlighted by the low light of the room.

“Do you think she’s going to make it?” She asked, quietly. There was a twice-rotted guilt in her stomach; her father built that monstrous machine that sent all those people here; _she_ failed to stop it.

“Leia’s strong,” Cassian said. “The Force was right to trust her.” It was a very diplomatic answer. Jyn waited for the truth. He gave it after a moment. “Losing your planet… it’s the most devastating thing you can imagine. Your family, your home, your everything. But Leia’s strong. She’ll survive it.” He tilted his head to look at her and added, “They made the mistake of taking everything. Her parents are here, her people. The plans are all she has now. There’s nothing else they can take away from her.”

Jyn nodded slowly, taking that in. It was cold and brutal, but Jyn could see the logic in it. Saw always taught her to leave an inch of something, just an inch, for prisoners to cling to. She wondered if Cassian had been taught the same thing. The Imps had foiled themselves, leaving that last thing – the last thing she would protect most fiercely – as the thing they wanted.

She watched him for a moment, watching her. She’d heard about Fest, of course, ransacked and overtaken by Imperials in their early days. The planet hadn’t been destroyed, but it may as well have been, entire cities razed, and families burned. Cassian had said he’d been in the fight since he was only six.

She curled her arm under her head and asked what Fest was like.

Cassian seemed almost startled by the question, looking up at the ceiling then back at her. But Jyn just watching him calmly, keeping her face neutral.

“It was cold,” he began. “Colder than any planet I’ve ever been on. We all lived in homes like my Abuela’s from the first day, if you remember – entire extended families, sons and daughters and cousins and grandchildren. Everyone in these sprawling little buildings. They were always really cramped, though. Maybe that’s why they didn’t give me one here.”

She recognized the longing in his voice. “I would’ve preferred a home like our shack on Lah’mu.”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied quietly. “That house down the street – it’s nice, but…”

But the room he’d actually chosen for himself mimicked the rebel bunks exactly, utilitarian and spartan, the only half-luxury being the bed, which he’d immediately offered to share with her.

“It’s too much,” Jyn finished for him.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

He told her about fishing on Fest, and how he and his father used to go out early in the morning and cut into the ice, so they caught the fish before they hid from the sunlight. He told her about how they would pack snow around their homes, to provide an extra layer of protection against hail storms, and he told her about his mother’s walk to the village every morning to go to work, and how she always returned home on the last work day of the week with some kind of treat. Usually sweets, but sometimes little toys too.

When Cassian lost steam, trailing off, Jyn spoke. “It sounds beautiful.”

“It was,” he said. He turned fully on his side to face her. “It really was.”

Jyn was suddenly struck by the intimacy of their position – she’d never slept in a bed with anyone, not since she would crawl between her parents because of a nightmare. If she was ever given an offer to share, she would usually bolt, and if she was somewhere with one bed and a partner, she’d always pick the floor. She was surprised to find herself not on-edge or panicked, but relaxed as she laid in the dark with Cassian.

“Thank you,” she said, so quietly she wasn’t sure he would hear her. Cassian shifted a little.

“Have sweet dreams, Jyn,” he replied, and Jyn burrowed further down into the pillows.

“Good night, Cassian.”

///

Jyn’s body was heavy like a stone when she woke, weighed down pleasantly into the bed. She was warm too; warm enough that she dreaded the thought of leaving the bed, curled up as she was. It wasn’t even a wallop to the stomach when she remembered that she was dead and in the Good Place, because she was so distracted about _where_ she was in the Good Place, and what that meant about the line of warmth across her waist.

She wanted to make it last longer, but she could feel warm light across her eyes, and knew it was probably time to get up. She kept her eyes shut for a moment longer, turning her face into the pillow to block out the sunlight. Her movement must’ve woken him, because Cassian’s hand slowly tightened on her back and then released quickly, like he’d realized what he was doing.

“Sorry,” Jyn said, finally prying her eyes open. She wasn’t quite prepared for Cassian looking so unguarded, thick eyelashes blinking sleepily at her.

“No,” he said, looking at her. She swore his eyes dropped to her mouth. “It’s okay.”

What they were doing finally caught up to her sleepy mind and her heart shocked into motion. She prepared to lurch out of bed, and probably go live in the woods for the rest of eternity, when Cassian’s eyes drifted shut again and he muttered, “We’re even.”

Jyn could tell that she was the one who rolled over to his side, that she was the one that invaded his space in her sleep. But Cassian was the one wrapped around her, her arms folded between them with her hands on his (muscular, _not that she was thinking about it_ ) chest. He was right. They were even.

Jyn took a deep breath, sinking back into the mattress. She could hear distant movement from downstairs. The others, probably making breakfast.

“What time is it?” Cassian asked sleepily, eyes still closed. Jyn couldn’t see the clock from where she was laying. She breathed in slowly and started to leverage herself up, and Cassian retracted his arm from around her waist quickly, like he was suddenly afraid that he’d intruded. Jyn drew her knees up and set her elbows on them, pushing her hair from her face and searching for Cassian’s clock. She looked down to see him watching her.

He looked away like he’d only been glancing at her, so casual that Jyn nearly believed him. But then he righted himself quickly beside her, shoving his hand through his hair and trying very hard to look casual.

Jyn didn’t have time to dwell on it, because she finally spotted the clock. “Cass,” she said, the nickname falling from her mouth unthinkingly. “It’s almost one.”

“We can go back to sleep then,” he replied, apparently not registering the sunlight shining in their window. “If you want.”

“No,” Jyn said, looking over at him. “In the afternoon.”

Cassian swore, leaning around her to see the clock. It was no wonder she felt so good. That was the longest she’d ever slept.

Jyn rubbed her eyes, forgetting about the eyeliner and mascara, and Cassian laughed. For a second, she thought it was at her, remembering the makeup at the last second. But when she opened her eyes, Cassian was shaking his head, apparently at himself.

“We slept for more than twelve hours,” he said, and Jyn realized he was laughing at both of them. She smiled tentatively when he said, “I’ve never slept that long before.”

“Me neither,” she said. “We’ll have to set an alarm for tomorrow.” She froze the second she heard her words – inviting herself back, back into his space and his bed. Maybe he slept terribly, this was probably a mistake, and there she was, opening her big damn mouth –

“Yeah,” Cassian said with the softest smile she’d ever seen on him. “Yeah, we should. I’ll look around today.”

All the panic fluttering in her chest rested slowly at that.

///

Jyn was tempted to call it a day and retreat into bed, but they had all of eternity to rest. Alderaan needed their help.

When they came downstairs guiltily, for sleeping in so long, they found Bodhi in the kitchen making lunch. He told them Baze and Chirrut had joined the teams of people visiting people in their homes, taking on the monumental task of trying to explain death, and what had happened to them. Kay was back at the hangar, maintaining the speeders that were flying back and forth between the base and the new neighbourhoods at a greater rate than they ever had. Bodhi had left to eat and check on them.

“You should’ve woken us,” Cassian said, nudging him gently out of the way to take over assembling them all sandwiches. He was back in his fatigues, looking like the captain she knew best. But she couldn’t shake the image of his dark eyes full of sleepy wonder, slowly blinking away sleep.

“Nah,” Bodhi said, shaking his head. “It’s nothing like yesterday. A lot of families are spending time with each other, and Queens Organa and Amidala have been making the rounds with little teams. They set up a whole carnival, too, for the kids.” Bodhi looked at her, leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. Her makeup hadn’t smeared that badly when she rubbed her eyes, but it felt dry and close to cracking, so she’d washed it all off. She hadn’t had a chance to retrieve her makeup from her house. Jyn felt a little strange without the usual black she layered around her eyes, but she didn’t feel strongly enough to go get it.

“You both look better rested than I’ve seen you in ages,” Bodhi continued, smiling a little at her. “Actually, you both look better rested than I’ve _ever_ seen you.”

Jyn dipped her chin, glancing at Cassian as he carefully sliced bread for their lunch. “Where do you want us?” She asked, returning to Bodhi.

“Base would probably be best,” he told her. “Most of the volunteers have headed off to help at the carnival, which is good, but now we’re a little thin on maintenance crews, and a lot of the droids that came from Alderaan need a tune up.”

They spent the rest of the day doing just that, tinkering with droids and replacing their parts, spares always on hand because they were given by some unseen deity. Cassian and Bodhi were both better with the work, diagnosing problems in seconds, able to spot the right parts without ever glancing at serial numbers.

But Jyn was better with Binary, able to translate it fluently back to Basic, as well as able to whistle passably back, making droids squeal with delight when she replied with it. She picked up some new terms by the end of the day, including a sharp whistle and a squeak that took a few shots to understand. She only learned it because it was the same thing on everyone’s lips, a name that was fluttering through all of them: _Leia, Leia, Leia_. Their little galaxy was cheering for her, urging her on her mission. Jyn wondered if she could hear them from her ship, her name shining through them like the stars.

///

Near sunset, they were all still working. Jyn was wired from all the sleep she’d gotten, and she was sure Cassian felt the same way. Kay, of course, could work until his battery ran out, which meant days, if not weeks. Bodhi was different still and seemed charged by the people around him.

Jyn had been keeping an eye on him on base. Saw’s distrust of the rebels wasn’t so hard to shake, and Bodhi had arrived in an Imperial uniform, after all. But she didn’t see one person without anything kind to say to him, and she had since relaxed, not posed to pounce anytime someone approached him.

She found herself torn between pity for the dead, and pity for the living. All day, she watched Alderaanians wander in groups, clearly those without children to distract them at the carnival. But she could only imagine the state of the rest of the galaxy, especially those Alderaanians that were off-planet. She couldn’t imagine the pain Leia Organa was feeling, even with a whole planet behind her. They were dead and she was alive, split by that firm, immovable line.

Jyn spent her day trying to help, in her clumsy, aggressive way. The Alderaanians seemed to feel helpless, fingers twitching for any job to feel useful. She found them odd, meaningless tasks, if just to keep their hands busy – _I need a wrench, get me a part like this, this droid needs about five more bolts like this._ She wasn’t friendly, like Bodhi, or even a good teacher, like Cassian, but they seemed to warm to her just the same. Maybe it was because she refused to look at them with sad eyes or show the pity she was feeling. Maybe they appreciated the brusque tone of hers, the same one Kay had adopted, that kept them busy.

Maybe they knew who she was; Bodhi came around with tape early in the afternoon, labelled her ERSO across her arm and over her heart. He had BODHI ROOK written in the same places, and she caught ANDOR striped across Cassian, when she caught a glimpse of him. All the rebels seemed to have assumed the crude nametags, like they were part of the strangest, most pathetic little welcoming party. Maybe the Alderaanians saw her name, paired with ANDOR and ROOK (and, briefly, KAY, before he’d removed the sticker with an indignant huff about _nicknames_ ). Maybe they knew, from her name, that she’d died trying to save them.

Around dinner, the base began to thin, most people headed off to one of the fifty-odd feasts being held across the Good Place. Jyn was glad for the break. She didn’t mind keeping the Alderaanians busy, but she was running out of bullshit tasks, and, in all honesty, needed some quiet time. She was still wired from all that sleep, but she wasn’t used to so much attention, to so many people needing her to tend to them. The Good Place really was good at keeping her under a spot light.

She found the rest of Rogue One gathered in a quiet corner and perched on a crate with them, her foot propped on the crate Cassian had taken a seat on. Baze and Chirrut had brought food, presumably from one of the feasts, and Jyn crammed a whole roll in her mouth while the others chatted. She kept forgetting that no one was about to try to take her food from her.

Bodhi had all kinds of stories, given to him by the Alderaanians. Most of them starred the woman of the hour; Leia was the face of defiance against the Empire, quick-tongued and no-nonsense, an ace with a blaster. All the preening, admiring stories of Leia made Jyn squirm a little, remembering how Cassian had drawn a parallel between them.

 _He didn’t mean it like that_.

Bodhi was in the middle of a story he had from someone who claimed to be an old tutor of hers, in which Leia had called the Emperor a _wrinkled old karker_ in front of her lady mother (Cassian nudged her foot, making her squirm). That was when Jyn spotted a man approaching them. He was wearing a blue cape over one shoulder, beard neatly trimmed but looking exhausted, like he carried the weight of the universe on his shoulders. She poked her toe into Cassian’s side and he nodded without turning to her. He was approaching head-on at Jyn’s angle, but from Cassian’s right; still, he’d seen him too.

Bodhi must’ve seen Cassian, because he trailed off, turning to look behind him. By then, the man was only a couple feet away, and knew he’d been spotted.

“You’re the leaders of Rogue One?” He asked, with an accent that was similar to Cassian’s. She glanced at Cassian’s profile, and she saw him look out the corner of his eye at her.

“We are,” Cassian answered, sitting up and turning to him. Jyn watched the man warily, though there was no need. They were in the Good Place. No one was going to hurt them here; that would probably break some rule. But she kept forgetting that.

“My name is Bail Organa,” he said, and Jyn finally placed him in the mist of her memory. He’d met with Saw once, when she was still quite young, but old enough to think she was tough shit with pigtails. She remembered him looking at her, taking in her fair skin and missing front tooth and the blaster on her side. He’d asked about her origin.

“ _Parents killed by the karking Empire, who else_ ,” Saw replied, which had been half-true. Organa had moved on, then, with one last glance to Jyn, before starting about what they’d met to discuss. Jyn didn’t understand it fully in the moment, but reflecting back, it seemed like Organa was pleading with Saw. She remembered him saying that such extremes were not the answer. But Organa could’ve pleased all he liked; Saw only dealt in extremes. Nothing else registered for him.

“I have come to thank you, on behalf of my people, my wife, and myself. You tried to save us, and you gave my daughter a chance, which is more than I ever could’ve hoped for.”

It was Chirrut that answered, in the low, serene voice Jyn had only heard from him when he was set on teaching her a lesson. “The Force is with her,” he said simply. “As it is with us.”

Organa watched him for a second, and then nodded. His eyes flicked to her, and she thought she saw a pearl of recognition, but it was gone in a flash. “Thank you,” he said, and then a touch more personally, “You have my sincerest thanks.”

Jyn suddenly remembered that Organa had not been alone when he met with Saw. There had been a young girl with him, with a pretty dress and pretty hair and a foul mouth, when Jyn teased her for the first two. She had met with Leia Organa after all; she’d just never known it.

///

Jyn woke to gunfire, leaping from bed a second before Cassian, both diving for the foot locker. Of course, there were no weapons in there, but the instinct was overwhelming. Jyn remembered just before Cassian did, and turned to catch his shoulder against her chest, stopping his momentum.

“The Good Place,” she said breathlessly, grabbing his shoulder. “We’re in the Good Place.”

Another bang and they both jumped, Cassian’s arms reaching out and snapping around her, yanking her to his chest. He curled protectively around her, holding so tightly that Jyn could feel his heart pounding against her ear. She curled her fingers into the front of his shirt, sliding the one arm she could around his back, the other pinned between their chests.

“Cassian,” she said quietly, hugging him back. “Cassian, listen. We’re safe here. Let’s see what’s going on. Okay?”

Cassian’s grip loosened slightly, and then he let go abruptly and completely, like he realized what he was doing. He was breathing heavily, like he’d just run for miles. His pupils were blown wide, his hands shaking. He nodded once, quickly, staring over her head.

“Cassian?” Her heart was pounding too and focusing on Cassian made it easier to deal with. “I need to hear you, Cass.”

He nodded, swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m okay.” Jyn tugged on his arm and he looked at her. He looked shaken, but a bit steadier than he had been. She watched him for another beat before she released him, satisfied.

They got their coats and pulled them over their sleeping clothes, leaving Cassian’s room the same moment that Kay ducked from his. His eyes zeroed in on them and seemed to read their panicked, startled expressions. “An analysis of the sound has yielded a ten percent chance of explosive, and ninety percent chance of fireworks.”

Jyn blinked. “Fireworks?”

There was a reason for the ruckus, the singing when they reached the main streets and the gun-like fireworks, and it was a man named Biggs Darklighter.

Biggs Darklighter was a rebel pilot. He had died in what was becoming known as the Battle of Yavin, which was unfolding as they spoke. The name sunk Jyn’s heart, and she was prepared for another’s planets arrival, wondering what the hell they would do with the populations of _two_ planets in the Good Place, when the rest of the story reached her.

Biggs had died in the Battle of Yavin because he was a pilot of one of the X Wings that had gone after the Death Star, led by a farm boy and a set of plans that had been distributed to the entire rebellion.

Rebels came to the Good Place in steady waves for the next hour, each with a new puzzle piece: the evacuations from Yavin were successful; Leia Organa was indeed alive, and had appeared with a ragtag team and the fury of a thousand suns; Mothma had taken over command since Bail’s departure; some farm boy had blown the Death Star to smithereens.

Each piece was a sucker punch, and the only thing that kept her standing was her need to know _more_.

Parties erupted all over and Jyn found herself swept up in them, Bodhi appearing to gather them back to base. Music was coming from all corners, people pouring in as they celebrated. She’d found a place in the back with Kay and Cassian, half-hiding in the crates from the dancing crowd that was steadily growing larger and larger.

She caught a glimpse of Biggs, alone, at one point. He was half in the crowd and half outside it, torn between celebrating and mourning. Jyn understood. There was a hard knot in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was overwhelmed or guilty or just exhausted.

But then Baze appeared, snagging Cassian’s arm and dragging him onto the dance floor. Cassian grabbed her and Kay, pulling them with him, and Jyn could’ve sworn she heard Baze, _if I have to be out here, then so do you –_

Cassian looked at her, face filled with all the awkwardness she felt. She watched him make a decision, shaking his head, before he held a hand out to her. When she took it, he stepped into her space, setting his free hand on her hip.

“Is this okay?” He asked into her ear, too noisy to speak any further away. She nodded, and he removed his hand from her waist to guide her free hand to her shoulder, and then returned it. “Like this,” he told her, swaying gently. Jyn focused on trying to match him, staring at their feet. She glared when Cassian laughed at her stiff, jerky movements.

“Relax,” he said, “Don’t think about it so hard. It’s like a fight. Try to be lighter on your feet.”

She looked away from their feet and to his face, still glaring. “And how do you know so much about it?”

“I had to learn when I was a teenager,” he told her. “For missions.”

It melted her glare a little, the idea of a teenaged Cassian tripping over his too-large feet. She looked at his ear, because suddenly looking at his face was too much. She thought of him at sixteen, running his first kill mission. Or was it even earlier? Jyn’s first was when she was ten, but that wasn’t on an order; it was a trooper, who she shot dead when he appeared behind Saw. She’d received praise for it, a warm hand on her head, and a _foot higher and that would’ve been acceptable_ , which was glowing, coming from Saw. Did Draven congratulate him? Or was it cold, an expectation he would clear the mission in time for the next?

Unconsciously, she shuffled a little closer.

“What’re you thinking?” Cassian asked. She looked him in the face then abruptly away again. Here she was, thinking, with some fondness, of her first kill while she stood in the _Good Place_. That undeserving feeling knotted her stomach tighter, and she snapped her lip over her teeth, shrugging.

Cassian went quiet again. She glanced at him again and was startled. She’d seen a flash of disappointment before his face shuttered close again, looking over her shoulder. His entire demeanor changed; his hands loosened, and almost hovered over her hip and hand. Jyn watched him retract back into himself, and desperately wanted to stop it.

“I never expected to be here,” she said, staring hard at his earlobe. “I never thought I would end up somewhere Good.”

Cassian’s eyes swung back to her, almost surprised, but then he softened. “Yeah,” he said, “I can understand that.” His hands tightened around her again, and Jyn nearly sagged in relief. “But… well, Kay says the likelihood of a mistake is incalculable. Smaller than anything he could imagine, and I’ve heard him go to eight decimal points.” It startled a laugh out of her, and he continued, apparently emboldened. “And everything that’s happened in the last few days – it’s because of you, Jyn. You inspired those troops, you got us to Scarif. You activated the tower. You projected those plans.”

“But you were just as important,” she said fiercely, maybe startling him, since he looked her in the eye so quickly. “ _You_ convinced all those men to come with us, and that’s not just because of your rank, or even because you were convincing in the moment… they followed _you_ , Cass. You gave everything to the rebellion, more than anyone… And you started it all, tracing rumors and leads and finding me… and you – you came back. On the tower, and in Jedha, and on Eadu. You kept coming back. No one’s ever done that for me before.”

Jyn felt her emotional range tap out, words drying up her throat. She stared resolutely at his earlobe. Distantly, she thought that he had nice earlobes. Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

She almost dreaded his response to that humiliating confession, bracing herself for words she didn’t know she could meet. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled her closer, so they were flush against one another, and Jyn shut her eyes, paying attention to the warmth of his hands.

///

The party ran well into the night, but Jyn parted halfway through, squeezing Cassian’s hand.

“Is it okay if I meet you back at your room?”

“Of course, Jyn,” he’d replied, watching her carefully. “Do you want me to come?”

She shook her head but had to bite back her smile. She could get used to this – having someone watching her back. But just not for this; this, she felt, would be better alone.

Jyn knew where her parents’ home was, though she’d never been inside. She knew it was in the Naboo style, and that there was a lab attached to the back, but she’d never dared to enter it, the walls full of _too much_. Too much love, too much confusion, too much room to trip over herself.

The walk was quiet; though she could hear a half dozen parties, and see the lights and people that accompanied them, the streets were empty and dark. She walked down the middle of the road, staring down her target like a dueller. She wouldn’t lose her nerve. She wouldn’t run.

The knock on the door rattled her teeth, but she didn’t lose her nerve. She didn’t run, not even when her mother’s exhausted face answered it, eyes rounding with surprise.

“Can I talk to you?” She asked. “And Papa?”

Galen was seated in the living room, which was full of plant life and rock formations. There were holos everywhere of their family; Jyn as a baby, Jyn with Stormy, Jyn in her parents’ arms. She broke eye contact with the little girl in the photos, who had no idea what fate had in store for her. She turned to her parents. Galen looked as if he’d lost a pint of blood, face white and movements slow. She remembered seeing something similar reflected in herself after a particularly brutal knife fight. Saw had called her deserving of it, for being so slow.

Jyn thought she could do this, but realized it was a mistake. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t face them, who the hell did she think she was –

She thought of Bodhi twirling his wire over and over again, always shaking but always smiling. She wiped her clammy hands on her fatigues.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking between them. “About Alderaan.”

The name was like a physical blow to Galen; she watched him crumple inwards, like she’d kicked him in the stomach. Lyra strung an arm around him and Galen bowed his head and yes, this was a mistake, Force, she couldn’t even get the beginning right –

Chirrut’s voice, telling her _you can do this_. Her own voice, piling on top of his: _I can do this/ you can do this/ I can do this/ you can do this/ I can do this_.

“It wasn’t fair,” she told them both, lifting her chin. “For you to leave your screw-ups on me.” She looked at her mother, “For you to rush into a situation you _knew_ you would die in and make me watch.” She turned to her father. “Or for you to put the end of the Death Star on my head.” She looked between them. “It wasn’t fair for either of you to leave me with Saw, because _nothing_ he did to me was fair.”

Her parents had bowed their heads, prepared for these blows. Jyn tightened her fists and loosened them. _It wasn’t fair that the Empire took them, either, and it wasn’t fair that they were held hostage, and that their only escape was Saw Gerrera, of all people_.

But it wasn’t about fairness.

She thought of Baze, adapting slowly and carefully to his new existence, compelled to confront the Force after all. Of Kay, running the numbers of a mistake. Incalculable.

Without all that unfairness, she would never know any of them.

“But I’m glad,” she said, “For what I learned. And who I met and sometimes what I did. And I don’t blame you. And I’m sorry, really, about Alderaan, and this, in a way, and – and all of it.” Her parents were looking at her. She couldn’t do it with their eyes fixed on her like that, so she turned her head and looked out the window. “I need time. To adjust. And patience. But I just wanted you to know that. I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you. I’m sorry.”

She was repeating herself again. She stared at the window hard, making out her own reflection. She still wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she remembered why. The panic she’d woken with. The person she’d been with. She straightened her shoulders, like he would, and turned back to them.

“We’re sorry too,” Lyra said. Galen nodded eagerly.

“We’ll never stop being sorry,” Galen told her. “Stardust, we wanted the best for you, and we’re so sorry for what you got. Saw and prison and…” He trailed off, dropping his face into his hands. Jyn had never breathed a word to them about Wobani. She had a list, immediately, of people who would know about it, cut down to one name against all the people who would tell her parents without her consent.

She set it aside, for now. Her mother had picked up where her father left off. “Many of the things you endured were terrible, Jyn. If we’d known…”

“It wasn’t all bad,” she cut in, startling them into looking at her. “I’m the best knife thrower the Partisans have ever seen.” Her parents blinked, apparently uncertain that was a good thing. She swallowed a sigh and said, patiently, “It wasn’t all bad. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would die on a pyre for Leia Organa.
> 
> The last chapter is written and halfway edited, so hopefully I'll upload it sometime this week???
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://clytemnestrad.tumblr.com/) talk to me about Halloween


	3. healing is not linear

_…_

_the heart demands aim to land true_

_…_

They eased into a routine. Jyn and Cassian continued to run every single day and return to Jyn’s house afterwards. They tossed their coats on one of the many ornate tables and dropped onto fancy cream ottomans, smearing mud from their boots on the carpets. Every time they returned, the mud from the day before had been cleaned away by some invisible hand.

Cassian would get them water while Jyn went upstairs and grabbed clothes for that night and the following day. But, about a week after Alderaan, she paused, standing outside of the washroom.

When she placed her clothes in Cassian’s room later, she slipped into the bathroom too. She laid her kohl beside his razor, tapping it with her pinkie to line up straight with his. She slipped out again quickly, face burning, like she’d been caught in the middle of something.

///

Jyn spent a day exploring every inch of the base with Bodhi, poking through all the nooks and crannies they could find. Cassian probably could’ve just laid it out for them, but it was fun to snoop through the base with Bodhi, sneaking through the halls like children. Jyn was delighted to find a shooting range just off the training center. It wasn’t very big, and the blasters could only be loaded with paint, not charges, but she was excited all the same. The paint blasters had a slightly different shot than those of regular blasters, the difference in weight probably being the cause. Jyn rose to the challenge, going as often as she wanted.

Sometimes she went alone, but usually with Baze or Cassian. Baze had pulled a replica of his canon from Force-knows-where, and grimaced when it shot paint for the first few runs, but he seemed to warm up to it. Twice, Kay had joined her and Cassian, aim improving each time.

Jyn and Cassian were startled awake one night by a thudding on the door, and Jyn thought for a split second that Baze had decided to use their door for target practice. She was proved wrong, however, by a voice that joined the thudding.

“Jyn Erso?!” Kay’s voice chirped, making Jyn groan as she flopped backwards. Cassian had the audacity to laugh.

“It’s for you,” he told her, eyes shut. Jyn knocked him in the shoulder with her fist. She remained silent. Maybe if she was quiet, Kay would go away.

“Jyn Erso!” His voice projected through the door. “Cassian has informed me that you have recently began to cohabitate here with him. Is this currently still the case, or should I update my – “

Jyn swore, Cassian’s low chuckle lost in it. She swung her legs out of the bed. Kay might as well have taken a damn megaphone to the streets, he was so loud. She ripped open the door to tell him so, and barely dodged Kay’s fist as it swung to bang again.

“Jyn,” he said. “Good morning.” His eyes zoomed in the way they did when he remembered something. “Are you awake?” Jyn blinked at him, knowing it was somewhere around three in the morning. “Cassian says it is good manners to ask the question, though I don’t understand it either.”

Jyn scrubbed her face, “What do you want, Kay?”

Kay said, “I want to accompany you on a trip to the shooting range tomorrow.”

She watched him, her exhausted mind trying to catch up.

“My records indicate that you attend the shooting range on the base formally known as Yavin Four-and-a-Half once a day, usually in the evening, though there have been some outlier occasions in which you attended at eleven hundred hours, fourteen hundred hours, and fifteen hundred hours.” Jyn was trying to absorb this information _and_ keep her eyes open, which was no small feat. Kay kept going, “Though I am a forty-two-point-three percent better shot than you, Cassian hits his target with eleven percent more accuracy than I, and it is a gap I would like to decrease.”

Jyn squinted at him. “Are you calling me a bad shot? In the middle of the karking night?” She was tempted to find her blaster and give him a new paint job, if just to prove a point. She started to look for it when Cassian appeared beside her.

“She’d be happy to have you along, Kay,” Cassian said, setting a soothing hand on Kay’s arm. He did the same to Jyn, and she narrowed her eyes when she realized it. “But not until later, okay?”

“That is satisfactory. Good night, Cassian and Jyn.” Kay turned and lumbered down the hall, back to his room.

“What the kark,” Jyn started as Cassian shut the door and turned her gently by her shoulders, guiding her back to the bed.

“He sometimes forgets about sleeping habits,” Cassian said, leaving her on her side to round to his. “Especially since I slept so irregularly.”

Jyn sat in the bed beside him, shoving her hands into her hair and watching him lie back with a smile. “What?” She bit, and it just made him smile more.

“It’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, and Jyn rolled her eyes as he laughed, sinking beside him. But there was something about seeing Cassian laughing and lying in bed and looking at her like that that made her forget every word she knew.

Jyn grumbled, ducking under the covers. Cassian shut off the light and Jyn finally found a word to throw at him. “Gossip,” she said, and that just made him laugh again. Jyn found herself smiling too, shutting her eyes and losing herself to sleep almost immediately.

///

Jyn apologized one morning for taking up so much room in Cassian’s footlocker. Her stuff filled half of it, so they had to lay their coats across the back of the desk chair. Cassian looked at her so incredulously that she knew she’d made a misstep, apologizing again for things she didn’t need to. She’d stopped apologizing for waking up entwined with Cassian around the same time he had, and neither had since.

Damn. She thought she was getting better at that.

When she got back to the room that night, however, there was a second footlocker waiting for her, her clothes already moved inside.

“You just have to ask for what you want, Jyn,” Cassian said quietly, standing in the soft brown shirt she’d worn to sleep on her first night with him. His eyes were so intense that she had a feeling he didn’t just mean the footlocker.

///

“Jyn,” Bodhi appeared in the open doorway of Cassian’s room. She was reviewing Festian on her datapad, determined to add some verbs to her menial knowledge before dinner. “I’m going to see Galen, if you wanted to tag along. I made these squares.”

Jyn considered him, looking at the plate he held. She knew Bodhi visited Galen fairly regularly, especially since Alderaan, but Jyn herself had only seen her parents twice since her outburst, both times because Chirrut had invited them for dinner. It was his thinly veiled way of getting her to do more with them than her usual slap-and-dash style.

Jyn thought about it, then slid off the bed and left the datapad behind, following Bodhi out.

Galen looked better than the last time she’d seen him; still haunted, but not so suffocated. His eyes lit when he opened his door to them, and he ushered them in with a hopeful expression.

“Lyra is working on her project on base,” he said. “It’s just me today. Tea?” He bustled off without an answer, and Jyn glanced at Bodhi, raising her eyebrows.

“He’s been like this all week,” Bodhi told her quietly, before going to take a seat.

That was understandable, Jyn supposed. She took the only spot beside Bodhi, sliding less easily than he onto the couch. Galen returned, hands shaking enough that the cups were clattering against one another. Bodhi was quick to stand and help, but Jyn’s hand gently pushed him back down and she took the tray herself, setting it on the low coffee table. Two of the cups had already been fixed with cream and sugar, so she handed one to her father and the other to Bodhi.

“Oh, no, Jyn,” Galen said, stopping her. “That’s for you. Two sugars, a little cream, right?”

Jyn blinked, then nodded quickly, handing Bodhi the clear tea instead. She hadn’t drunk her tea with anything in it since she was a child, cream and sugar too hard of a commodity to come by, too grand of an expense. She sipped it. It was good, if foreign.

She glanced at Bodhi as they fell into an uncomfortable silence. He came to her rescue and said, “Much better than the stuff we had on Eadu.” Galen looked up at them and almost smiled. Bodhi turned to Jyn, to let her in on the joke.

“We met in the cafeteria,” Bodhi explained, smiling at Galen as he nodded alone. “I was always sitting alone, so Galen would come sit with me.”

Jyn nodded; she couldn’t quite see Bodhi getting along with the other Imperial pilots, even the ones who had been forced to enlist. He was too kind to last among them, and they probably smelled it. “Did you stay for long on Eadu?” She asked.

Galen’s eyes went distant. “Just as long as the final phase of the project.”

She spotted the exact moment he began to shut down, and a small, nasty part of her thought, _you brought this upon yourself_. She stamped it down (it was the same voice that told her to run, that got a tiny bit easier to ignore each time), and blurted, “I’m learning Festian.”

Galen looked up at her for that, blinking in confusion.

“It’s a sister language of Alderaanian,” she said, and cursed herself again, for bringing that up. Quickly, “Cass – Captain Andor is teaching me.” He’d introduced himself like that, with his whole name and rank, _Captain Cassian Andor, sir, m’am_. “It’s his first language. He’s a good teacher.”

Galen blinked at her slowly, and then he said, “Tell me about your friends, Jyn. Tell me about Rogue One.”

Jyn glanced at Bodhi, who nodded encouragingly.

So she told him. She skipped Bodhi, of course, because Galen had known him longer than even she had. She began with Cassian, because he was where Rogue One began.

“He found me in an Imperial prison camp,” she told Galen, refusing to falter when he flinched. “Wobani. I was using an alias, they didn’t know who I was. He figured it out somehow,” she said.

“He rescued you?” Galen asked, and Jyn almost grinned.

“No,” she said, “He sent a team. It was a good thing he didn’t go, otherwise I would’ve hit him in the face with a shovel.” At her father’s expression, Jyn said, “I thought it was someone worse than the Alliance.” Her father’s expression didn’t lighten, so she added, “Saw made me a fighter.”

Galen shook his head, starting to smile gently at her. “No. You were always a fighter, Jyn.”

Jyn felt herself soften, just a little. She told him about Kay, and how she’d called him Target Practice on Jedha, and how he saved her life in return. She told him more about Cassian, and their lessons in Festian, traded for lessons in knife throwing. Then there was Chirrut, who meditated and watered the plants in their home, and Baze, who called her little sister.

“It sounds like you’ve found quite a family, Stardust,” Galen said. He didn’t sound as heartbroken as before, but he was still quiet, and he was fiddling with a rope around his wrist that looked very much like the one Bodhi always had. “I’m happy for you.”

But she heard the undercurrent, too. Jyn ducked her head to catch his eye. Confrontation. She was good at this.

“Families can grow, Papa,” she said, firmly and using his nickname purposefully. Galen’s face opened a tiny bit, like a moon flower at midnight.

///

Jyn opened her eyes the next morning to the desk that Cassian kept tidy, and the boots he’d tucked up against the wall the night before, before he slotted her boots next to his. The man himself was behind her, breath warm against her neck in a way that nearly startled out of bed the first few times, unused to someone being so close, especially behind her. But she’d since grown used to it, even found comfort in it. She’d learned Cassian’s breath, and knew that it was his heartbeat pressed against her back.

She saw her shoes, how they were squished to fit in the space with Cassian’s, and ice cold insecurity curled in her stomach. Jyn wasn’t stupid. She knew that, in life, they’d been veering towards something, something that she was starting to think would’ve happened if they’d lived. She thought that they would’ve used death as a catalyst – or maybe an excuse. Maybe the only reason any of that had happened was because of death, and because they expected an end. Maybe he’d only leaned in and welcomed her home was that they were almost out of time.

She started to squirm, thinking _intruder, intruder, intruder_ and _weak, weak, weak_ , all in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Saw. Suddenly, the warmth of Cassian’s bed was oppressive, a reminder that she was only invited for one night, not for the almost two weeks she’d taken. Jyn puzzled how she could escape without waking him, heart beginning to race.

It was like he heard her, because his arm tightened around her waist, speaking quietly, “Are you awake?”

God, his voice was rough. Was that her fault? It was, she was sure. She’d been here, taking up space in his bed, and he just wanted a decent bit of sleep.

He must’ve felt her tense, because his arm tightened again. “You okay, Jyn? Nightmare?”

She shut her eyes, shame hitting her like a truncheon to the knees. There was something else she did, something else that ruined his space – it wasn’t uncommon for her to wake with a scream in her mouth, and Cassian was just too damn kind to tell her to go back to her own damn house, to stop disturbing his sleep – of anyone, _he_ deserved peace after sacrificing so much.

If she couldn’t find her own peace, she could give him his.

She lurched up to sit, snapping his arm away.

“Jyn?” He was suddenly alert behind her and she felt the bed shift as he sat up too. “Jyn, are you having a panic attack? It’s okay, just breathe. I’m here.”

Oh. She guessed she was, chest heaving, eyes burning. Her breath was too tight to speak, but if it wasn’t she’d probably ask _why are you so damn nice to me_?

Then he was next to her, holding her and saying nice, comforting things in her ear while she tried to catch her breath. She knew that to fight the panic attack would only make it worse, that her only option was to ride it out. She tried to focus on her breath and tried to let it relax. Then Cassian caught her wrist and set her hand on his stomach, bringing her eyes there. He took a huge breath, exaggerating the movement, and Jyn found herself following him, desperate to claw out of the spiral she’d slid down.

“That’s good,” Cassian said as her breathing slowed. “That’s really good, Jyn, keep going, like this.”

When she’d finally gotten control of her breath again, she blurted the question she’d been thinking: “Why are you so nice to me?”

The question seemed to startle him more than the panic attack. He hadn’t let go of her hand, still pressed to his stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“You only invited me here once, and I’m still here, butting my way in, and – “

It felt ridiculous to say. But the cold wasn’t so easily banished, freezing her slowly.

“Jyn,” Cassian said, moving to be in her line of sight. “You’re not intruding. You’re never intruding here. I asked you here.” He swallowed, eyes dropping to her hand, pressed between his stomach and his hand. “I want you here.”

Jyn stilled, trying to understand the concept. He wanted her there… It was the first time she’d held a blaster: alien, but not unwelcome.

Everyone had been so insistent that Jyn ask for what she wanted, and yet she hadn’t considered any kind of validity to her wants. She hadn’t even stopped to think that maybe some of her wants lined up with those of others’. She stared at him, struggling to wrap her head around it.

Cassian looked back up at her face, his expression a mixture of sadness and understanding that made her squirm. “I’m not going to leave,” he said quietly, and Jyn watched her words tumble from his mouth, “I want you here, if that’s what you want.”

He understood. She could see it in his face that she hadn’t just blown everything, because he understood. He understood because he had the same fear. She could see it, lurking on his face only now that he’d let it show.

Very softly, with his eyes dropping to her hands, he repeated himself. “You just have to ask for what you want, Jyn.”

Jyn watched him in disbelief, waiting for his face to crack, for him to announce the joke, but he was steady. She remembered him on the beach, anchoring her down to the sand. He didn’t waver there, either.

“I want to be here,” she said finally, startling herself not with the want (she’d known about that), but the honesty. It felt a bit like waking up without her blaster, leaving her exposed. But she’d been doing that for weeks. Cassian had been covering that blind spot for weeks.

He didn’t move, aside from a small nod and a tiny upturn of his lips.

“Good,” he said. Carefully, he reached up and brushed something off her cheek. A tear. How long had she been crying? Embarrassment, now, come to replace insecurity –

But then Cassian smiled at her and spooked it away. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Realizing suddenly how exhausted she was, she nodded. Cassian nodded too, but before she could lie down, he twisted a piece of hair behind her ear. Then he slipped around her before she could memorize the feeling, sliding back under the covers. Jyn followed, turning over and, after a second’s hesitation, laying herself against his chest and shutting her eyes. Cassian’s arms wound around her and they could’ve been dead in the Good Place or alive in on a damn battlefield and that would’ve made her feel safe.

“Cass,” she said, remembering the recognition in his eyes, looking back at her like a mirror. “I’m not going to leave, either. Not unless you want me to.”

Cassian’s arms tightened, and she felt him move, pressing a kiss to her hairline. With certainty, he said, “I wouldn’t want that.”

///

She thought about what Cassian said a lot. His words rolled in her head like Scarif’s tide, just as hard to erase, but infinitely less unpleasant.

Later that day, Jyn left him at lunch to go to her house. She found a canvas bag in one of the closets and filled it with all the clothes she owned; even, after a moment’s hesitation, one of the stupid dresses. She left the bag on top of the footlocker that had become hers, so he was sure to see.

Then she left their room for base. Lyra was working in her office there, and set down some mirrored contraption when she walked in.

“How did you know about Wobani?” She asked without preamble. Jyn had told Galen about it the last time she’d seen him, but they’d known about it before.

Lyra blinked at her, startled at her bluntness, but Jyn’s ears were ringing, and she just wanted them to stop.

“Nobody in Rogue One would’ve told you without my permission,” she said, “Who was it?”

Apparently, there was a Medium Place. Jyn had assumed a binary and had assumed that Saw wouldn’t end up anywhere Good. She’d seen him rip fingers clean off of men with nothing but pliers. She assumed that would earn you someplace Bad.

“He didn’t always do the right thing,” Lyra said patiently when Jyn raised her eyebrows. “But he did always do what he _thought_ was the right thing. Even when it was painful for him. Especially when it came to you.”

So Saw was in a Medium Place, and there was a train to get there. Jyn turned the information over in her hands like a new knife and decided to holster it for later.

///

They mostly spent their days on base. Even with more rebels coming in almost every day, more eager hands to help, Amidala’s groups were still overwhelmed by the arrival of the Alderaanians. Jyn signed up for droid maintenance, spending her days working elbow to elbow with Bodhi, Cassian, and Kay, exchanging quips over welding sparks and screwdrivers. They spent a lot of time in the gym too, keeping their hard-earned muscle and speed, practicing their hand to hand on the mats. Jyn was working on teaching Bodhi how to throw a proper punch, but he was a bit of a hopeless student. He couldn’t channel any of meaning he needed into it, couldn’t summon up the dark emotion required for a good hit.

There were odd days, however, where Jyn would sit on Cassian’s bed (and it was getting harder and harder to remember to say _Cassian’s_ and not _their_ ) and work on her Festian, or she would wander the base’s (largely useless) armor, where nothing worse than a knife or a paint blaster lived. She would spend her time bartering for something with good balance and test her guess. There were days where she walked instead of ran with Cassian, tracing out the forest in time with the dead rebel’s maps, or days where she would try to sit still enough to meditate with Chirrut, and usually end up helping Baze with whatever he was doing, whether that be trying to build a second canon or knitting them all sweaters. Sometimes she would visit her parents, usually with Bodhi, or very carefully venture into the Andor or Rook households, like a scientist wading into a particularly powerful storm.

On those odd days, the members of Rogue One would do different things. There was a temple that Chirrut liked to visit; Baze would often grumble about it, then follow after him. The Guardians had begun to teach a class as part of Amidala’s therapy programs, which seemed to be a part-stretching, part-combat, part-confusing metaphor creation that the teens liked. Cassian was practicing Binary, with the help of both Jyn and Kay, though Kay was probably more help, since Jyn couldn’t help but collapse into stiches anytime he tried to pronounce _greetings_ and it sounded an awful like _maker fucker_.

Bodhi had a few projects working in his garage. He had a whole X Wing in there, but he was fascinated with picking at his land speeder. He determined to accomplish something that he’d been so excited to explain that, between the fast words and slang, Jyn hadn’t understood a word. She wandered in one day, bored of everything else and looking to learn what he really meant to do.

She found him bent excitedly over the engine, goggles on his face.

“I did it, Jyn!” He blurted excitedly as soon as she walked in, waving her to lean over the engine with him. He blurted out a dozen shorthands about the engine, none of which Jyn followed. He may as well have been speaking Dug.

“What?” Jyn asked. Bodhi blushed, remembering himself.

“It’s going to go fast,” he said, almost bashfully. “Really, really fast. Probably dangerously fast. Do you want to go for a ride?”

Something clogged Jyn’s throat suddenly, and she felt that guilty knot tangle further into her stomach. Something in the action was so recklessly _young_ that she suddenly felt short of breath.

“Not right now,” she managed to force out, spinning on a heel and almost sprinting for the Jedhan house. She slammed her way in the door and slammed it again behind her, dropping back against it to tilt her face to the sandstone ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears trip down her cheeks as a sob built in her throat.

It had never occurred to her just how _young_ Bodhi was. He was hardly more than a teenager, his life had been cut off so suddenly, so _early_ –

“Jyn?”

She almost scratched the tears off her cheeks in her haste to rid herself of them, whirling to the speaker.

Chirrut stood across the room in the doorway to the hall, very, very still, in the way he did when he was listening hard. “Jyn, are you upset over something?”

Jyn shook her head silently, raking her fingers through her hair and gripping her scalp. She clamped her hands over her mouth, determined to stay silent, to pretend she wasn’t there at all.

Chirrut moved, losing that knowing stillness as he stepped forward into the room. He navigated carefully to the couch, taking a seat. Jyn almost thought she was home free when Chirrut sat his hands on the top of his staff thoughtfully, and said, “It is a strange thing, to grieve your own death. But I believe it is very important.”

Jyn knew the jig was up, her hands dropping from her mouth. “No,” she said, so quietly she was hardly audible to her own ears. But Chirrut must’ve heard her, because he tilted his head, encouraging her to continue.

“Not me,” she said slowly. “Bodhi. He was so young, Chirrut. Is so young. I don’t know. But he shouldn’t have died.”

Chirrut considered her for a moment and then shifted in his chair. “Bodhi is older than you.”

Jyn shook her head again, dropping back against the wall. “It’s different.”

“How?” Chirrut’s question was calm, but it was also infuriating.

“Because,” she snapped, dropping her hands entirely. “He joined the Academy because he didn’t have another choice, they alienated him, then my father _used_ him, and then _Saw_ did something awful – he hasn’t said anything, but I _know_ Saw, and I know _exactly_ what he keeps in the basements of his hideouts, I’ve seen – “ She cut herself off, locking those images back. “And now – Bodhi is dead.”

Chirrut hummed, nodding slowly. “I wonder… did you have choice? When you were a child, and your parents were stolen, and Saw adopted you?”

“Bodhi is _innocent_ ,” she said, because that was the difference between them. Bodhi had not deserved his death. Jyn had earned hers.

Chirrut clucked his tongue at her. “Do not do a disservice to him, Jyn. Bodhi made choices all on his own. He chose to defect. He chose to go to Scarif with the rest of us. He chose to be the pilot. Do you not hear him mutter that to himself, in times of stress?” Chirrut shook his head. “Do not undersell his ability because you are afraid to confront your own fears.”

He let that sit for a moment and then said, “It is a good thing, to mourn and honor your friends, and I believe that is what you are trying to do. But it is just as important to mourn yourself, Jyn.”

She felt her shoulders slip down, and the last of her fight left her mouth. “I never expected to make it into my twenties. I wasn’t supposed to.”

Chirrut shifted his hands, leaning his mouth against them before he answered. “Expecting and realizing are two different things,” he said patiently. “It is a strange thing to mourn yourself,” he repeated. “But I believe that is important. Just as important for you to forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself?”

“For dying,” he said simply.

She was quiet for a long moment, and the next word, which left her throat somewhat involuntarily, was barely a whisper, “How?”

Chirrut smiled gently. “Your friends can help with that,” he said, holding out his hand. “You are allowed to be sad that you died. You are allowed to forgive yourself. You are allowed to want things for yourself. You don’t need to blame yourself. And your friends are here to help with that. So, Jyn. What do you want?”

///

Chirrut and Cassian’s words weaved together in her mind: _you are allowed to want for things for yourself; you just have to ask for what you want, Jyn_. And then her own voice, her own mantra. _I can do this_.

Cassian usually took the fresher second before bed, because he was a gentleman, and always insisted on it. Besides, Jyn couldn’t sleep with her hair wet, and Cassian would wake up the second she opened the fresher door, so it didn’t much matter, since they’d always wait up for one another.

When he finished up that night, Jyn was already in bed, blankets tucked up to her chin.

“Goodnight, Jyn,” he said softly, turning off the light. She felt the mattress dip beneath his weight, move a little as he got settled.

“Is it okay,” she blurted, cringing at the volume of her voice in the quiet room, “If I come over there?”

They woke every morning entwined but started off every night apart. The only exception was the night of Jyn’s embarrassing panic attack, and she wrote that off anyways, since she had been near-hysterical. They never outright talked about it or acknowledged it, letting their unconscious take the blame for their positions in the morning. Jyn didn’t want that anymore.

“Yes,” Cassian answered a beat later. Jyn was already lying on her side, back to him, so she slid carefully backwards until her back bumped his chest. Then his arm dropped around her waist, natural as breath, and Jyn relaxed back, settling against him. Cassian breathed out slowly and wrapped his arm a little tighter. She felt him relax too, curling closer towards her.

“Goodnight, Cass,” she said quietly, letting the nickname slip by purposefully for once.

“Goodnight, Jyn,” he repeated, his breath tickling the back of her neck when he did.

///

One of the younger recruits came around base, taking names of rebels who wanted to participate in the weekly war games.

“Weekly?” Cassian asked incredulously, sending her a look. “We’ve been here longer than that and I haven’t heard of war games.”

“It was Alderaan, sir,” the ensign said. “The war games were put off until we got back on top things, sir.”

Jyn liked Cassian, she really did, but he wasn’t asking the important question. “War games?” She asked, “The hell is that?”

The only war games Jyn had ever participated in were with Saw, and those had been worse than half of the real battles she’d been in. She doubted those would be replicated in the here, especially since she’d only run into one other Partisan in the Good Place. They’d been studiously ignoring one another since.

“They’re one of the regular programs run by the base here, m’am,” the ensign said, just as eager as before. “Every week, there’s a long-range game played in the woods. Sometimes it’s modified dodgeball, predator and prey, or something like that. This week is capture the flag.”

“We’d like to be on the same team,” Cassian said, and Jyn glanced at him. He looked at Jyn and said, “We did this when I was younger – it can get pretty competitive.”

“Yes, sir,” the ensign said, “Of course, sir.”

When the ensign buzzed off, Jyn turned back to Cassian. “Scared to lose, _sir_?” She only meant to poke fun at the eager ensign, but Cassian’s ears went red, and his hand jumped to the back of his neck. She took note of his reaction and filed the intel away for later.

Baze and Chirrut signed up to play as well, but Bodhi elected to sit out and work with the medical team that would be based at Yavin Four and a Half, which would serve as neutral territory. Jyn probably should’ve been worried that there needed to be a medical team at all. Instead, her blood sang an old, beloved song, and she picked out her favourite truncheons from the growing pile in her footlocker.

Kay elected to sit out too, citing the _eighty-six percent chance_ of unfair advantage, due to his _advanced size, speed, and aim_. Jyn would’ve called him a chicken, but he bowed out moments after Bodhi shared that he wouldn’t be participating, and Jyn kind of wanted to tease him instead for growing a fleshy, disadvantageous heart like the rest of them.

Jyn didn’t question why the rebels offered this in the Good Place, even though it was supposed to be _peaceful_. She recognized the restless she felt in others; Baze, polishing his homemade (and slightly modified) canon; Cassian, leaving a lovely pair of truncheons on her pillow; and Chirrut, who really had seemed serene, until he began twirling his staff in that deadly way of his.

There were rules, of course. At least four people approached her to tell her about them, which Jyn found mildly insulting, since Cassian was only approached _once_. Weapons had to be dull, and all blasters were the kind that only shot paint. Everyone would wear standard fatigues and team colours, with a shock-absorbing vest at least, though the medical team did their best to promote helmets as well, largely to no avail. What was the worst that could happen? They were already _dead_.

All participating members of Rogue One were put on the blue team, the organizers apparently wise enough not to split them up. Or maybe not wise enough _to_ split them up. Either way, Jyn was looking forward to it.

On the day of the competition, the woods were blocked off by volunteers, making the borders for the game. The base was similarly closed, operating on a skeleton crew while the base was prepped. Jyn and Cassian couldn’t even go for their daily run, leaving them both antsy and energetic, to the point that Baze told them to stop fidgeting or he’d shoot them, teammates or not.

They were finally released onto the field at noon, sent to the north end of a long, red border that cut through the forest, with the base and lake in the middle. There were too many people to have a proper strategy meeting with, but someone at the top had apparently expected that, and designated soldiers came around to let everyone know of the plan. It wasn’t very complicated; essentially, if you weren’t one of the ten assigned to hide the flag, you were to run wild, sending Green members to jail or invading their territory.

She could see Cassian tense up at the lack of plan, and it made Jyn smile. She was used to slapdash ideas like this, but she knew the free-for-all style of the game was probably making him itch.

She bumped into him, nodding west, “Let’s get on high ground.”

They had thirty minutes to hide the flag, so Jyn led their troop up to high ground, looking for a good vantage point to cross at. The four of them didn’t need to stick together, especially not with the blue ties around their arms denoting their team, but they did anyways, moving together in unspoken agreement.

At least, that was until the horn sounded, and the opposing green team burst through the trees, immediately engaged with other members of the blue team. Chirrut ran gleefully into the melee, brandishing his staff. Baze groaned and legged it after him.

Cassian’s hand caught Jyn’s elbow before she could do the same.

“Flag,” he said, and Jyn nearly smiled at his laser-focus. Give Cassian an objective, and he would fill it. Except, of course, the once. The memory had her a little more pliable for him. She followed without argument.

Jyn noted the red border as her foot slammed over it, paint-shooting blaster held at the ready. Cassian was taking point, so she watched their backs, sweeping behind them. Technically, they’d never done this – running precision drills and taking point or sweep, since Jedha, Scarif, and Eadu had all been more or less blind sprinting and shooting, with some fast, disorganized cover. But it felt natural, like they’d been running missions togethers for years, and not just two assignments in which Jyn was more hostage than ally, and one that was entirely unsanctioned.

Jyn almost found herself smiling. It was even better than running with him.

Cassian’s plan became clear quickly, as they checked obvious spots they passed on their runs: a large hollow tree with thick foliage, a creek with a wide overhang, a clearing filled with fallen logs. But the best place to hide the flag wasn’t in one of these landmarks, but under a random tree, without any difference to any other tree in the forest.

They only met a handful of greens on their trip, all of whom they sent to the blue prison with a quick splatter of paint. Only one person came close to getting them, a fourteen-year-old with a gap tooth and a neat, dull little knife she’d dipped in paint, almost catching their ankles from her hiding spot under a log. They took the girl’s placement as strategic, and thought they were close. There were probably more greens placed nearby, well-hidden and posed to take down any blues entering the area, but their search was abruptly halted by a shout.

“BLUES GOT THE FLAG, GET TO THE BORDER!”

They took off together, sprinting towards the noise and astutely aware that it probably made every rebel in hearing distance do the exact same thing. Jyn only caught a glimpse of Eirtaé, sprinting between two women who bore a striking resemblance to her, green flag fluttering behind her.

Jyn only saw the movement because Cassian was looking at Eirtaé, and she’d adjusted to cover his blind spot. She caught the twitch in the trees, nothing more, but the movement was enough to have Jyn lurching forward, doing little more than collide with the green rebel that leapt from the trees. He’d been aiming for Cassian, but when the Jyn-shaped torpedo hit him, it caused both of them to lose their guns, hitting the ground in a scuffle.

She only realized who it was when she aimed an elbow for his face, and Melshi knocked it clear, swinging back. Jyn rolled backwards but used the momentum to shove herself back to her feet and abruptly changed direction, sprinting straight into Melshi’s gut, eliciting a surprised gasp as she rammed her shoulder into him and forcing him to the ground.

“Jyn!”

She was off him in a moment, rolling out of the way as Cassian pulled the trigger twice, getting Melshi in the chest with two balls of paint. Melshi swore and Jyn sat up on her elbows, grinning. A horn sounded, declaring Eirtaé’s success, and the end of the game.

“I would’ve got you, if not for Erso,” Melshi said, glaring at her. Cassian laughed and offered his hand, yanking him up. Melshi continued to glare at Jyn. “I thought you hated partner work.”

Cassian held his hand out for Jyn next, leveraging her up. She underestimated his strength and overcompensated, bumping into his chest gently. She felt the rumble of his chuckle at Melshi’s remark, hands still clasped between them.

“I thought you’d know better than to jump someone like that when they had a partner to cover their back,” Cassian returned, and Jyn smiled.

Melshi stretched, touching his stomach lightly. “You’ve got a shoulder like a damn wrecking ball, Erso.” He lifted his shirt to show the bruising that was already appearing.

“If you wanted to stay safe, you shouldn't have played,” Jyn said. Melshi dropped his shirt.

“I knew Andor was going to have his hands full the second we tried to rescue you from the tram, and you hit me over the head with a shovel.”

“If you keep whining about that, I’m going to shoot you again,” Jyn returned, jerking her chin at Cassian’s paint.

“That will get you disqualified from next week,” Melshi sounded like he approved of the idea, and wasn’t sure why he was warning her.

“Playing dirty is the best way to win. That’s what I was taught.”

Melshi nodded, “I heard Gerrera was a real asshole.”

Jyn scoffed. That was underselling it. Still, “Didn’t hear wrong.”

“Well, maybe he didn’t stomp all the feeling out of you, Erso.”

Jyn narrowed her eyes. _Where the hell had he pulled that from?_ Melshi looked so smug, jerking his chin at them. Belatedly, she realized that she was still holding Cassian’s hand, and they jumped apart at once, Cassian’s hand reaching for the back of his neck while Jyn dove for her gun.

“How long have you known each other?” Jyn blurted, looking for a change of subject. Melshi knew it too, Cheshire grin on his face. Jyn’s face felt hot.

“Years,” Cassian answered mercifully, looking to Melshi. “We enlisted about the same time.”

“You know him well, then,” Jyn said. Melshi nodded, the men exchanging the kind of look Jyn used to see between Partisans that respected one another; they were few and far between. She pointed at Melshi’s paint-splattered vest, “You should’ve seen _that_ coming then.”

Melshi didn’t even glare. Jyn defensively cocked a hip.

“I know Andor pretty well,” Melshi said, “Not as well as you, though, Erso.”

Her face heated all over again and she cursed her light skin as Melshi grinned, nodding at Cassian and walking away before she could take back the last word. She looked up at Cassian, but he was smiling down on her and she felt her tight shoulders relax a little.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” she said, and Cassian shook his head, looking out into the forest before he stepped a little closer to her.

“Nah,” he said easily, “I think he does.”

It was the most relaxed she’d seen him since they arrived in the Good Place, and Jyn realized that it was how she felt, too. She felt settled, enough so that she walked shoulder to shoulder with him all the way back, allowing her hand to bump, then rest, against his.

///

That night, Jyn laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the war games. Her arm was sore, but in a familiar, hard-won way that actually settled her, rather than the opposite. She thought about the dead rebellion, and she thought of all the people that lived in the Good Place, which must stretch on forever.

Cassian had mentioned wanting to see his family again once of these days, for breakfast instead of dinner, because Festian breakfasts were apparently an event in themselves. Chirrut and Baze were asking around for other members from the Jedhan Temple, and had already found a handful. Bodhi and Kay were keen to spend a few days exploring the Good Place, Kay wanted to prove some of his hypothesises about the Good Place, and Jedha City had been recreated, according to the Rooks, just east of them, and Bodhi was excited to see it.

Jyn wanted to follow them all, to spend her days shoulder to shoulder with them as they explored the Good Place. She wanted to find something more than day-to-day on the base. She’d guest instructed at Chirrut’s lessons a couple times, and actually enjoyed teaching. Lyra had also sent a few files to Jyn’s datapad on her project, and she found herself reading it – slowly, because she didn’t know all of the jargon, but she was able to pick up on most of the theory. It was like reading the sister language to one she knew already, getting stuck on some words but understanding the gist. Still, she wanted more information, more context. Jyn made plans of her own, to guest lecture at Chirrut’s lessons again, and to visit Lyra during her on-base hours.

Then she remembered that she’d promised to go with Bodhi to see her father again, and that Chirrut wanted to join her and Cassian for their run one of these days, determined to learn the forest in pieces. Jyn was startled, suddenly, to see all those plans laid out before her; to have a certainty in tomorrow. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Cassian had left the fresher until he slid in bed next to her, leaving the light on for once.

“What’re you thinking?” He asked, pulling her carefully from her thoughts. He was curled on his side facing her.

“It’s…” She swallowed the word _silly_ , because she knew Cassian. He would understand this. “I have plans for more than tomorrow in the first time since… Saw, I think.” She turned her head to face him. “It’s weird, I guess.”

Cassian nodded against his pillow. “I didn’t think death would promise a future.”

 _Exactly_. Jyn nodded too. She turned onto her side to face him, and couldn’t help the grimace that passed over her face, forgetting her shoulder. It was only because she’d pushed back at little to leverage herself up, pressing back into her bruise.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Cassian asked immediately, almost sitting up, but Jyn shook her head at him.

“My shoulder,” she said, rolling it around experimentally. “I think I bruised it on Melshi’s spine.”

Cassian’s lips quirked, and then he reached up, hesitating as his hand hovered over her shoulder. “Can I…?”

“Yeah,” she said. Cassian pushed his hand under her shirt, gently shifting it off her shoulder, careful not to touch her skin. He made a face at the black bruising he found. The concern she found there made her heart beat like she’d just gone for a run, and it made her say, “You should see the other guy.”

Cassian’s lips quirked again, but she still didn’t get a full smile. “I bet Bodhi has some bacta,” he said, “Or even some ice. I can get you some.”

Jyn shook her head, “It’s fine, Cass. I’ve had worse. This is nothing.” Cassian searched her face for a lie but didn’t find one. He looked at the bruising again, almost glaring at it, then carefully shifted her shirt back over her shoulder.

Her fingers twitched, and she didn’t let herself think about it as she moved her free hand up to the buttons on Cassian’s shirt, fixing one that was out of place. When she’d straightened it, she loosened her fingers, staring hard at her hand as she left it on his chest. Cassian took it as permission to slide his arm around her waist, sliding forward instead of pulling her like he usually did, probably worried about the bruising.

“You didn’t shave,” she realized suddenly. Without thinking, she ran a finger down his jaw line. Cassian blinked at her with confusion and she said, somewhat defensively, “You trim it every three days.”

“Yeah,” Cassian said, sounding vaguely like he’d been punched in the stomach. Like he didn’t expect she had noticed something like that. She realized she still hadn’t moved her finger and yanked back, apologizing. “It’s okay,” he said, finally smiling, if just a little. “I was tired,” he explained, “I’ll shave in the morning.”

Jyn nodded and smiled a little, then closed her eyes. The light went out behind her lids, the orange behind them going dark. She felt Cassian pull the blanket up on both of them, securing it lightly behind Jyn below her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, and Jyn opened her eyes again, only just able to make out his features in the dark. “We should come up with a strategy for the next war games. They release the team lists early, we could try to comb it for natural leaders and track those players. I wonder if they keep records of the past games somewhere,” he said, trailing off.

Jyn felt her own competitiveness bubble up, and would’ve sat up, if she wasn’t so comfortable. “I was talking to Melshi, and he said that the games are almost exclusively played in the woods, so we should start taking different running routes, to get to know it better.”

They talked strategy well into the night, until Jyn’s limbs were heavy and Cassian couldn’t keep his dark eyes open. When Cassian’s eyes closed for good, Jyn went a little closer, feeling his hand tighten around her and his lips brushing her forehead in something that wasn’t quite a kiss, but was close to it.

///

“So, what _is_ going on between you and Cassian?”

Jyn dropped her wrench, narrowly missing her toes, and swung up to stare at Bodhi. He was leaned over the same droid as her, trouble shooting what was making its wheels stick like they were. They’d been working on the same little droid all morning and, moments ago, had been in the middle of a conversation about it. Jyn had innocently suggested they ask Kay or Cassian for one of their opinions, and Bodhi had blurted the question. It was like he’d been holding it in, waiting for her to drop the C-word and give him an opening.

Jyn was so surprised that her response was karing _polite_ , of all things. “Pardon?”

Bodhi smiled a little, but his hand was drifting to his wrist and the tie he kept there. “You know, we’re dead – not stupid.”

Jyn straightened and put her hands on her hips. “Who’s _we_?”

Bodhi smiled a little bigger, reaching to pick up her wrench for her. He held it out to her as he answered. “The rebels. Just about anyone who was in the game yesterday. Everyone who lives in our house, and knows that the two of you are sharing a room.”

What the hell had happened at the exercise yesterday, that everyone was suddenly convinced they were together? Jyn racked her brain, but nothing stood out. They’d acted as they always acted around one another.

Maybe that was it.

Jyn ignored the offered wrench, narrowing her eyes defensively. “He _offered_ – I couldn’t sleep, and neither could he – it was too _quiet_ , and – I really don’t like that house, and there weren’t any more rooms – “

Jyn was very aware that every excuse was dropping from her mouth at a quicker and quicker rate, sounding less and less convincing. She was actually glad when Bodhi cut her off.

“Alright,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I know it’s not my business. Someone just asked me this morning, and I wondered…”

“Who asked you?” Jyn demanded, but Bodhi shook his head. “And why’d they ask _you_  and not me themselves?”

“I wonder,” Bodhi said, edging into sarcasm, and Jyn narrowed her eyes further. “It doesn’t matter who asked me,” he said, “You don’t have to tell me anything. I just – want you both to be happy. And you seem to make each other happy.”

Jyn watched him for a moment, anger and panic evaporating. Annoyingly, she was touched, and at a bit of a loss. There was something about the Good Place that made people say nice things to her, and it caught her off guard every single time. She never knew how to respond.

She reached forward and took the wrench he offered, words caught in her mouth. Finally, she managed, “Thanks, Bodhi.”

Bodhi squeezed her wrist, then turned back to the droid. “Have we tried to reset him with a worm wheel?”

Jyn looked back down at the droid, listening to it beep and squeak at them happily. It didn’t mind that it was suspended upside down, and kept telling Jyn how much it was enjoying the tune-up. “No, we haven’t,” she said.

///

By the end of the day, all these words were swimming around in her head. The usual suspects were there, Chirrut’s _you are allowed to want things for yourself_ , Cassian’s _you just have to ask for what you want, Jyn_. But now Bodhi was in there too. _You seem to make each other happy_.

“I can do this,” she added to herself, voicing it for the first time. She felt stupid immediately for resorting to such a juvenile tactic, but that was what they wanted, wasn’t it? To be honest about what _she_ wanted. If she had to make up some mysticism for it, they couldn’t fault her.

She was sitting on their bed when she heard Cassian leave the bathroom, cross legged as she sharpened the latest knife she’d swiped from the weaponry. It probably wasn’t a good habit to be stealing in heaven, but the quartermaster was a lot more lax than any she’d met before, and Jyn couldn’t help herself.

“Why’d you ask me to stay here?” She asked it without looking up, eyes on the knife. Cassian was silent. Probably caught off guard by the sudden question. But she couldn’t look him in the face, not quite yet. “You said you wanted me here.” She shut her eyes, shook her head. “I mean, you said you didn’t want me to leave. Which means you want me here. Why?”

She finally gathered the courage to look up at him, but only by fixing on her best glare. It dropped immediately, however, when she realized he was standing only in a towel, holding it closed around his waist.

 _Karking hells_.

“I forgot to grab clothes before I showered,” Cassian said, but didn’t move to get them.

She meant to look away, she really did. She just… wanted to stay on track. Determined to plough on like she was unaffected (her face was hot, palms suddenly sweaty), she repeated, “Why’d you say that, Cassian?”

Cassian made a decision, she could see it in his face. It made her blush tick up ten degrees. “Because you’re brave,” he said finally, “And you saved that child on Jedha. And you still love your parents, after everything they put you through. And you’re patient with Bodhi, and you like Kay, even though you pretend you don’t. And you – you carried me across that beach. You could’ve left me, you could’ve tried to save yourself, and… you didn’t.”

Very quietly, Jyn said, “You don’t owe me anything, Cass.”

“That’s why, too,” Cassian said, just as softly. “Because you never expect anything in return. And maybe that’s learned, maybe that’s because of Saw… but I think it’s because you don’t expect it. You don’t demand anything in return.” Then he turned her own tactic against her. “Why did you stay?”

Damn interrogation training. She could’ve smiled at him, because that was so _Cassian,_ to just – but he asked her a question. She needed to focus on that.

It was fair to turn it back on her like that. She jammed her tongue against her teeth and thought before answering. He’d just laid down a lot for her, just because she’d asked. She wanted to meet him on even ground.

All those words rippled through her mind in a whisper.

“Because I wanted to,” she said simply. “I want to stay because you defied Draven, and the whole council. Because you believed me, even after,” she trailed off, eyes dropping as she though of the ride back from Eadu. She stared at the knife in her hands; somewhere along the way, she’d stopped sharpening it. “Because of hope. And – and you never left me. You always came back.” She couldn’t emphasize that enough. She didn’t know how to make him understand exactly how earth-shaking that was.

Jyn stared at her knee, and said, “Bodhi asked if we were together.” She glanced up, then, but Cassian’s face was carefully neutral. “I said no.”

Still, he gave nothing away. Even ground was good, but – at one point, one of them had to leap. And Jyn Erso was no coward.

He must’ve felt the _but_ coming, still, like he was watching a deer, afraid to spook it.

“But I think…” she said, eyes dropping back to her knee. “I don’t know… I might – want to be?”

A voice in her head, one that sounded like herself, said, _is that it? The great Jyn Erso, that’s all you got?_

She sat up and put the knife on the bed beside her, looking Cassian in the face. “I want to be. Together. Like Bodhi meant, but if – “

Cassian finished it for her, by taking two strong steps across the floor and kissing her. His hands cupped her face first and she rose on her knees to meet him in the middle, trying to get a better angle as she set her hands on his shoulders, holding herself steady. Cassian’s hands fell to her waist, helping her balance.

She’d been kissed before, but nothing like this. Every kiss Jyn Erso had experienced had been rushed and rough, nothing more than mouths colliding awkwardly, nothing more than a means to an end. She’d never kissed anyone because she’d just wanted to _kiss_ them before. She’d never been treated with the kind of reverence Cassian was giving her now, hands and mouth gentle. Forget Scarif. She wanted _this_ to go down in the history books.

If she’d have known she would’ve been rewarded like this for awkwardly blurting her feelings, she would’ve done it a long time ago.

When they finally had to break apart, they were both breathless, foreheads bent to lean against one another. Jyn had her eyes closed, but her hands were on his bare shoulders, and she finally remembered what he was wearing.

“Do you,” she asked, still a little short of breath. “Do you want to go change?”

A beat, and then, “Not really.” Jyn laughed, almost missing his offer, “Unless you want me to?”

She opened her eyes and looking at him, smiling. “Not really.”

///

Peace was still hard, but it got easier.

War games ran every week, and the traffic in the training rooms on base started to pick up. Chirrut upped his classes to twice a week. He liked to bring in Jyn, because while she’d yet to pin him, she’d come the closest of everyone except Baze, who refused to fight him at all. Baze started a class of his own, but that was confined to their home and its occupants, where he spent his evenings teaching the members of Rogue One how to cook, often recycling one of four jokes about living under his roof and learning to pull their weight.

The range became an almost daily habit for her and Kay, and she was improving faster than him, her accuracy shooting up while his barely crept. She liked to hold it over his head, taking every opportunity to give him pointers that usually made him rattle off a threat that made her laugh.

Bodhi made friends with everyone on base while Jyn kept an eye on him from a distance. But no one gave him trouble, with or without her there. She’d worried, at first, when it came out that he was a defector, but there were others like him. Death seemed to be good at convincing people not to hold grudges.

They went to Galen and Lyra’s every week. Jyn would occasionally poke around Lyra’s work on base, so they always had something to talk about. But Galen wouldn’t set foot on base anymore. Her father was at least leaving their home now, but Jyn doubted he would ever recover from Alderaan. Tea together seemed to help, especially once Jyn stopped lying about her life. She remembered what Chirrut told her and told them about the good parts. Maybe they’d be ready one day for the rest, but not yet.

Asking for what she wanted wasn’t always easy. But being with Cassian was the easiest thing in the world. She couldn’t fathom how she’d dodged it for so long.

There was one loose end to tie up, however. One night, right before they went to sleep, Jyn asked, “Will you come with me to talk to him?”

Cassian didn’t even need to ask who. “Of course. When?”

///

The train was at the far end of the Good Place, so they took Bodhi’s speeder and left it parked beside the station. There was a parking lot, but no other speeders were in it. When they stepped on the otherwise-empty train, it immediately began to roll, no conductor in sight.

The track took them through the woods, further than they’d ever run before. Jyn made a mental note to hop off in the middle of the ride one day, scope out the woods from there – maybe they could get themselves some kind of advantage for the war games – but firmly told herself that was for _another_ time, _not_ today, because she’d put this off long enough.

The train rolled to a slow stop at a station in the middle of the woods. It was the only structure in sight, with a wide, black and white sign that read THE MEDIUM PLACE. The train stayed in the station when Cassian and Jyn disembarked to the platform, looking around. But they were surrounded by woods, with no sign of anyone else.

Jyn decided the forest to the south of them had the best vantage point of the station, and turned to Cassian. “Can you stay here?”

He looked down at her and nodded, but she could see his reservations in his face, even if he wasn’t saying them. But Cassian could hide anything, and showing them to her was just as good as voicing them. “I’ll be okay,” she said reassuringly. “Saw won’t hurt me,” probably. “Besides, what’s he going to do? Kill me?”

Her joke didn’t quite land, but Cassian’s face softened. “Alright. I’ll wait here. Call if you need me, okay?”

“I will,” she promised before she stepped off the platform. She walked towards the woods, glancing once over her shoulder to see Cassian leaned on his elbows against the railing of the platform, watching her back. She felt his careful eyes track her all the way to the trees.

Jyn remembered what Saw taught her about wilderness survival and looked up. It took her a moment, but she found the blind in the trees. It wasn’t very high, which made Jyn wonder – he used to build them higher, before he’d blown his lungs and leg to hell. Did he build it low out of habit? She thought of her knee, which hadn’t pained her since she died. Maybe that was a perk of the Good Place, and the Good Place only.

Jyn stepped into the trees, following the sightline of the blind. He’d set up camp within it. There was a conspicuous pile of branches to the south, like someone had ripped down a bunch of them and set them in a pile. One glance had Jyn spinning abruptly on her heel, just in time to see an arrow twang towards her. She ducked in time for it to hit the tree behind her, hand landing on a fist-sized rock she aimed automatically.

“ _Saw_!” She snapped, loose on her feet, in case he shot another arrow at her. She found him in the bush in a moment, spotting his white eyes peering out at her. She threw the rock anyways, watching as he ducked behind the tree he was hiding in. “You _karking_ – “

She cut herself off, biting her word back. “We’re already _dead_ ,” she snapped at him, crossing her arms once she saw the curve of his bow sticking out from the bush, lowered to face the ground. “What the hell are you trying to accomplish?”

Saw shuffled out of the bush, wearing the glare that meant she almost passed. His oxygen mask was strapped to his chest, and he was visibly limping. Her hypothesis was proven, and she didn’t feel very good about it. Worry tangled in her belly until she looked at the bow in his hands, and it left her.

“Slow,” Saw scolded, turning and walking deeper into the wood. “Death’s made you soft.”

Jyn didn’t need to wonder if he’d gone insane; Saw’s sanity had been on a slow descent the whole time she’d known him, starting, she suspected, when his planet had been put under Imperial rule. But Saw didn’t talk about that; she only found out by mistake, when one Paritsan had let it slip that he was from Onderon. She’d gone on to look into it herself, a crusade that had ended in a great deal of pity for Saw, until he found out and decided it was time to test her dodging skills with throwing knives. They were at it for hours, until Jyn, bloody and furious, had decided he’d deserved it.

Saw walked past her and Jyn turned to follow after a beat, saying nothing. They stayed in silence until their reached Saw’s real camp, which was nothing more than a pack he’d hidden in the hole of a hollow tree. Jyn would bet that he moved camp every ten hours.

“I don’t think the Empire’s going to hunt you here,” Jyn snapped at him, crossing her arms to watch him pick up his pack. He’d move now, that she’d seen his hiding spot, and she wouldn’t help him. The moment she left, he’d probably destroy the blind and the fake camp, even though they were decoys.

“That’s why you died, Erso,” Saw said, lumbering past her again, knocking his shoulder into hers. Jyn didn’t let it rock her, glaring before she followed after him.

“I _died_ saving the plans to the Death Star,” she bit, stomping after him. “Saving your _precious_ dream.”

“Never told you to die doing it,” Saw grunted, and Jyn wished she wasn’t so quick to throw that rock. She’d love to have another go.

“You’re just upset that you gave up,” Jyn told him. “You wore yourself to the bone for the war, and then you died because you gave up.”

Saw turned around, watching her with his white, wide eyes. But she misjudged him. He wasn’t looking at her at all, as he revealed when he bumped past her to retrieve a dead rabbit off a snare just behind her. He yanked the rabbit’s carcass off the snare and threw it to her.

“Clean it,” he said, and then walked off again. “Use the blade in your boot.” Jyn considered throwing the animal back at him, but she bit her tongue and followed again.

Saw pulled back a bit of foliage and revealed a circle of stones and clean earth in a tiny clearing. Jyn stepped into the clearing and watched as he pulled chopped wood from the bushes and put them in the circle, working on getting a fire started. Jyn eyed him for a moment and, deciding he wasn’t about to bolt, sat on a large rock and laid the rabbit out, beginning to break it down.

It was one of the first things that Saw taught her, to catch and clean all kinds of animals, showing her what to eat and what to poison her enemies with. They worked in silence for a stretch of time; long enough for Jyn to remember doing the same when she was nine and still clumsy with a knife, nearly slicing her thumb off every time she had to clean such a small animal. Now her hands were sure and smooth as she cut and cleaned the rabbit, slicing off one of the hind legs for herself and setting it on the fire, knowing well that it was Saw’s favourite part. Across the fire, Saw glared at the three-legged rabbit she threw to him before he put it on the spit he’d constructed, apparently deciding not to argue over it. The knife he’d used to sharpen the spit was decidedly less useful than the one Jyn had, his made of crude stone and hers of smooth metal.

Jyn watched him as he turned the rabbit and thought about when she’d sprained her ankle and he’d carried her. She’d seen him leave older, more valuable Partisans behind for less.

“I heard about Scarif,” Saw said finally, the one to break their tense silence. Jyn looked up at him, surprised he’d spoken at all. “You could’ve survived if you left the captain.”

She snorted. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

“Didn’t even try.”

“Maybe I would’ve lived,” Jyn bit back. “But I wouldn’t have survived.” Saw looked up at her. Jyn glared, “What?”

“You sound like a karking rebel.” Jyn rolled her eyes.

“Force forbid.”

“It’s not what I taught you,” Saw said gruffly. Jyn watched him across the fire. He looked just as old as she’d last seen him, with the same scars and grey in his hair. He watched her back, and she wondered what he saw there. Did he really hate who she’d become? If he did, he only had himself to blame; he’d raised her, and he couldn’t say jack shit for it.

“You always stick to your guns, Erso,” Saw said finally, tending to the rabbit. Jyn flipped the leg she’d swiped. “Even when they were stupid guns.”

Lyra had said that he always did what he thought was the right thing. Especially when it came to her.

Jyn could see a crystal hanging around his neck that looked suspiciously like her own. He’d discovered her crystal on her when she was fourteen, and was immediately outraged about it, raving that it could be the thing that identifies her, the thing that gets them all killed, _and you’re not stupid, Erso, are you?_ But Jyn had gone to bat for it. She’d fought him back so fiercely, he’d given up on it.

She was watching the necklace so obviously that he shoved it into his shirt, the gesture an even bigger tell than the necklace itself.

There were a few other things she noticed – the goggles around his neck looked suspiciously like his sister’s. The woods themselves were familiar, and not just because she ran in them for a few miles every morning. They’d done this before. She cleaned the rabbit and then he cooked it. Her mother hadn’t been as fresh of a wound then, and Jyn could remember enjoying herself. It had been quiet in the woods. Almost peaceful. Jyn remembered feeling, for the first time in years, safe.

“Who else has visited?” Jyn asked, watching as he relaxed as much as he was capable, since she hadn’t asked about the necklace.

“Lyra first,” he said gruffly. “Then both her and your father. All askin’ about you.”

Jyn turned her rabbit. “What’d you tell them?”

“The truth.”

She couldn’t help it. “About how you left me?”

“Yes,” Saw said, unflinching. “Told them about your first kill, too. And when you came for her father’s message from that defector.”

“His name is Bodhi,” Jyn said firmly, watching as Saw looked up at her. “What you did to Bodhi was wrong. I don’t care what excuse you have for it.”

Saw, to her surprise, didn’t try to make one. He just turned the rabbit again. “Is that who’s on the platform?”

“No,” Jyn said. Her rabbit was finished, being smaller, and she picked it up, the bone burning her fingers a little. “That’s the captain. His name is Cassian Andor.”

Saw made a face. “That’s the one you died for?”

“With,” Jyn corrected. She bit into her rabbit carefully, chewed, then swallowed. “He’s also the one who saved me from Jedha City. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Saw said.

Neither of them was very talkative, however. Without elaboration from either, they lapsed into silence, neither willing to resurrect it. They were content to sit in it, both eating once the rest of the rabbit finished, staring off each other’s shoulders.

Jyn began to understand what this would constitute as Saw’s Medium Place. His Good Place would probably be some kind of durasteel fortress, his Bad Place an endless warzone with a hundred injuries. It would probably look a lot like his life, come to think of it. But this – creeping around in a forest, living off the land, always with work and flexible in where he slept – this seemed like it suited him.

When Jyn finished her rabbit leg, she stood, wiping the grease on her pants after dropping the bones in the fire. Saw always told her not to do that, as they would loudly crack and give away position. But Jyn had always liked watching them burst, and there was no one to give away position to anymore.

“I need to go,” she told him. “Cassian will be worried.” Saw just grunted, appearing more interested in his rabbit than her. She didn’t buy it for a second.

Jyn reached down and took the knife from her boot. She looked at him, then planted it in the tree beside her, starting back towards the station.

“You did do it,” Saw said suddenly. She turned to watch him. But he was still facing the fire, and she couldn’t see his face. “You saved the dream. You and that team of yours.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment that she’d ever gotten from him. Jyn nodded, though he couldn’t see it.

“I’ll be back,” she told him. “Don’t try to karking shoot me again.”

///

She did go back, again and again. Eventually, she brought Cassian with her, and slowly, the others followed. Even Bodhi, whose hands ticked nervously when he saw him, but he didn’t cower.

Her house changed with her. She didn’t notice it until it was pointed out to her, but it grew to be almost unrecognizable from what she had lived in during those early days. The colours all turned to earth tones. The furniture became sturdier, less fragile-looking. Rooms changed: the one holding her childhood memorabilia remained, but a gym appeared on the floor above it, and there was a bed on the floor above that and, though unused, it suddenly had two bedside tables. Three other rooms appeared above it, just in case.

What her parents gave her remained – the toys and the tea and the photos. But the rest changed, slowly, to suit her. Still, Jyn couldn’t bring herself to move back in. The short, cozy house across the street had become her home, not for its knitted blankets or its wide windows, but its occupants.

Kay continued to annoy the hell out of her, and Cassian continued to sleep beside her. Bodhi continued to take her on breakneck rides on his increasingly fast speeder, Baze continued to coach her in the kitchen, and Chirrut continued to pull secrets out of her that continued to surprise her.

A sign appeared on their front door overnight. It read _Rogue One_.

**Author's Note:**

> Characterization after death is HARD. Also I decided to do this on my practicum semester, so the joke's really on me.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://clytemnestrad.tumblr.com/).


End file.
